


‘THE UNIVERSITY 


OF ILLINOIS 


LIBRARY 
From the collection of 


| Julius Doerner, Chicago 
Purchased, 1918. 


Sulake 
—TSSw 























WIRED LOVE: 


A ROMANCE 


OF 


DOTS AND DASHES 


BY 


ELLA CHEEVER THAYER. 


‘¢The old, old story,”—in a new, new way. 
eo 
tS? 


NEW YORK: 


Copyright, 1879, by 
G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers. 
LONDON: S. LOW, SON & CO. 
MDCCCLXXIX. 


TROW 
PRINTING AND Book BinDINe Co. 
N. Y. 


SAMUEL STODDER, 
STEREOTYPER, 
90 ANN STREET, N. Y. 


~ = A rf 


469215 





CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER ¥ PAGE 
tee OOUNDS FROM A’DISTANT °C" (cous coe ue ee eee 9 

Pee THE TLOTEL NORMAN; «<a ede w ote POAT Sone rf, 25 
LPL VisipLe-AND INVISIBLE FRIENDS, v. 4s os. sane ee ‘2 40 
pW ee NTIGHBOREY (CAGLS. x ss ss'2'a de vivo ie Reece ee ee «en OF 
V. QuimBy Bursts FORTH IN ELOQUENCE...........+- 76 
Vist COLLAPSE OF THE ROMANCE, vc ossivs'5 se ve Palen ene go 
tL Mi OOD... 2 olde sa chun Wale alee Co aceile osc hel cere 103 
WitomC LE PEAST IONS cle cud clas to ab sleeee va cs oelet ean 117 
Tre LIMEXPECTED VISITORS. soap ots ae is wa wlau careaniae 130 
A LHE BROKEN CIRCUIT REUNITED....05. cnbuccevens 148 
XI. “Miss KLING TELEGRAPHICALLY BAFFLED.......... 166 
Ale OROSSES ON THE LINE. . vsee cess isa: s\alefave ea eis ea ree 185 
AL pee h tee. WRONG: WOMAN .sitcsscices excl kenus bes weme ere 198 
XIV. Quimpy ACCEPTS THE SITUATION. «222000600 € fea 208 
Ve ONE SUMMER DAY... cdevess cess vec ees aveee sues Rees 


XVI. O. K eo eceneeee Oe 239 


7 PRUE aaa SDR aaae <A Ge {= Sen sig 
Pesta reesbit O eho oa agli 


ere 


to vedere OEY: ewes Seated ee 
os ioe ‘, 8 et = gs 
Fee. (a mans TOOS 9 # 


fe inc hc erin we gemhigaohe 


f 4 7 ire 


Pathe ; ae ie wi 
i i a 94 cba cogs oens ured ean? 


Riedie eg esba atop pi day) e gee > asad 


ahs See 
‘ 





WERE P-L OVE 





CHAPTER I. 


SOUNDS FROM A DISTANT “C,” 


UST a noise, that is all. 
But a very significant noise to Miss Na- 
thalie Rogers, or Nattie, as she was usually 
abbreviated ; a noise that caused her to lay aside 
her book, and jump up hastily, exclaiming, with a 
gesture of impatience :— 
“Somebody always ‘calls’ me in the middle of 
every entertaining chapter !” | 
For that noise, that little clatter, like, and yet 
too irregular to be the ticking of a clock, expressed 
to Nattie these four mystic letters :— 
“Bm—Xn;” 
which same four mystic letters, interpreted, meant 
that the name, or, to use the technical word, “call,” 
of the telegraph office over which she was present 


10 Sounds from a Distant “C.” 


sole presiding genius, was “ B m,” and that “B m” 
was wanted by another office on the wire, desig- 
nated as “ X n.” 

A little, out-of-the-way, country office, some 
fifty miles down the line, was “X n,’” and, as 
Nattie signaled in reply to the “call” her readi- 
ness to receive any communications therefrom, she 
was conscious of holding ia some slight contempt 
the possible abilities of the human portion of its 
machinery. 

For who but an operator very green in the pro- 
fession would stay ¢here ? 

Consequently, she was quite unprepared for the 

velocity with which the telegraph alphabet of 
sounds in dots and dashes rattled over the instru- 
ment, appropriately termed a “sounder,” upon 
which messages are received, and found herself 
wholly unable to write down the words as fast as 
they came. 
“Dear me!” she thought, rather nervously, “the 
country is certainly ahead of the city thistime! I 
wonder if this smart operator is a lady or gentle- 
man !” | 

And, notwithstanding all her efforts, she was 
compelled to “ break”—that is, open her “key,” 
thereby breaking the circuit, and interrupting 
“X n” with the request, . 


Sounds from a Distant “C.” I! 


“Please repeat.” 

“X n” took the interruption very good-na- 
turedly—it was after dinner—and obeyed without 
expressing any impatience. 

But, alas! Nattie was even now unable to keep 
up with this too expert individual of uncertain sex, 
and was obliged again to “break,” with the humil- 
iating petition, 

‘Please send slower !” 

Cll responded 4 xn” 

For a small one, “Oh!” is a very expressive 
word. But whether this particular one signified 
impatience, or, as Nattie sensitively feared, con- 
tempt for her abilities, she could not tell. But 
certain it was that “X n” sent along the letters 
now in such a slow, funereal procession that she 
was driven half frantic with nervousness in the 
attempt to piece them together into words. They 
had not proceeded far, however, before a small, 
thin voice fell upon the ears of the agitated Nattie. 

“Are you taking a message now ?” it asked. 

Nattie glanced over her shoulder, and saw a 
sharp inquisitive nose, a green veil, a pair of eye- 
glasses, and a strained smile, sticking through her 
little window. 

Nodding a hasty answer to the question, she 
wrote down another word of the message, that she 


12 Sounds from a Distant “C.” 





had been able to catch, notwithstanding the inter- 
ruption. As she did so the voice again queried, 

“Do you take them entirely by sound ?” 

With a determined endeavor not to “break,” 
Nattie replied only with a frown. But fate was 
evidently against her establishing a reputation for 
being a good operator with “ X n.” 

“Here, please attend to this quick !” exclaimed 
a new voice, and a tall gentleman pounded impa- 
tiently on the shelf outside the little window with 
one hand, and with the other held forth a mes- 
sage. 

With despair in her heart, once more Nattie 
interrupted “ Xn,” took the impatient gentleman’s 
message, studied out its illegible characters, and 
changed a bill, the owner of the nose looking on 
attentively meanwhile; this done, she bade the 
really much-abused “X n” to proceed, or in tele- 
graphic terms, to 

“G. A. — the.” 

“G. A.” being the telegraphic abbreviation for 
“oo ahead,” and “the” the last word she had re- 
ceived of the message. 

And this time not even the fact of its being 
after dinner restrained “X n’s” feelings, and 
“X n” made the sarcastic inquiry, 

“Flad you not better go home and send down 


Sounds from a Distant “ C.” 13, 


some one who is capable of receiving this mes- 
sage?” 

Now it would seem as if two persons sixty or 
seventy miles apart might severally fly into a rage 
and nurse their wrath comfortably without par- 
ticularly annoying each other at the moment. But 
not under present conditions; and Nattie turned 
red and bit her nails excitedly under the displeas- 
ure of the distant person of unknown sex, at “X n.” 
But no instrument had yet been invented by which 
she could see the expression on the face of this 
operator at “Xn,” as she retorted, and her fingers 
formed the letters very sharply ; 

“Do you think it will help the matter at all for 
you to make a display of your charming dispo- 
sition? G. A. — the —.” 

“Tam happy to be able to return the compli- 


’ 9 


was “X n’s” preface to the con- 


{?* 


ment implied 
tinuation of the message. 

And now indeed Nattie might have recovered 
some of her fallen glories, being angry enough to 
be fiercely determined, had not the owner of the 
nose again made her presence manifest by the 
sudden question : 

“Do you have a different sound for every word, 
or syllable, or what ?” 

And, turning quickly around to scowl this per- 


14 Sounds from a Distant “C.” 


severing questioner into silence, Nattie’s elbow hit 
and knocked over the inkstand, its contents pour- 
ing over her hands, dress, the desk and floor, and 
proving beyond a doubt, as it descended, the truth 
of its label— 

“ Superior Black Ink !” 

And then, save for the clatter of the “sounder,” 
there was silence. 

For a moment Nattie gazed blankly at her 
besmeared hands and ruined dress, at the “ sounder,”’ 
and at the owner of the nose, who returned her 
look with that expression of serene amusement 
often noticeable in those who contemplate from 
afar the mishaps of their fellow beings; then with 
the courage of despair, she for the fourth time 
“broke” “Xn,” saying, with inky impression on 
the instrument, 

““Excuse me, but you will have to wait! Iam 
all ink, and I am being cross-examined !” 

Having thus delivered herself, she turned a 
deliberately deaf ear to “ X n’s” response, which, 
judging from the way the movable portion of the 
“sounder ”’ danced, was emphatic. 

“A little new milk will take that out!” com- 
placently said the owner of the nose, watching 
Nattie’s efforts to remove the ink from her dress 


with blotting-paper. 


Sounds from a Distant “ C.” PSs 


“Unfortunately I do not keep a cow here!” 
Nattie replied, tartly. 

Not quite polite in Nattie, this. But do not the 
circumstances plead strongly in her excuse? For, 
remember, she was not one of those impossible, 
angelic young ladies of whom we read, but one of 
the ordinary human beings we meet every day. 

The owner of the nose, however, was not chari- 
table, and drew herself up loftily, as she said in 
imperative accents, 

“You did not answer my question! Do you 
have to learn the sound of each letter so as to dis- 
tinguish them from each other?” 

Nattie constrained herself to reply, very shortly, 

mest. | 

“Can you take a message and talk to me at the 
same time?” pursued the investigator. 

“No!” was Nattie’s emphatic answer, as she 
looked ruefully at her dress. 

“But your instrument there is going it now. 
Ain’t they sending you a message?” went on the 
relentless owner of the nose. 

At this Nattie turned her attention a moment to 
what was being done “on the wire,” and breathed 
a sigh of relief. For “Xn” had given place to 
another office, and she replied, 


a 
16 Sounds from a Distant *C.” 


“No! Some office on the wire is sending to 
some other office.” 

The nose elevated itself in surprise. 

“Can you hear everything that is sent from 
every other office?” 

“Yes,” was the weary reply, as Nattie rubbed 
her dress. | 

“ What !” exclaimed the owner of the nose, in 
accents of incredulous wonder. “All over the 
world ?” 

“Certainly not! only the offices on this wire ; 
there are about twenty,” was the impatient reply. 

“ Ah!” evidently relieved. ‘ But,’ considering, 
“supposing you do not catch all the sounds, what 
do you do then ?” 

‘Break. | ; 

“ Break! Break what? the instruments ?” 
queried the owner of the nose, perplexedly, and 
looking as if that must be a very expensive habit. 

“ Break the circuit—the connection,—open the 
key and ask the sending office to repeat from the 
last word I have been able to catch!” 

Then seeing unmistakable evidence of more 
questions in the nose, Nattie threw the ink-soaked 
blotting-paper and her last remnant of patience 
into the waste basket, and added, 


“But you must excuse me, I am too busy to be 


Sounds from a Distant “C2” 7 





annoy—interrupted longer, and there are books that 
will give youall the information that you require !” 

So saying, Nattie turned her back, and the owner 
of the nose withdrew it, its tip glistening with 
indignation as she walked away. As it vanished, 
Nattie gave a sigh of relief, and sat down to mourn 
her ruined dress. Whatever may have been her 
previous opinion, she was positive now that this 
was the prettiest, the most becoming dress she had 
ever possessed, or might ever possess ! Only the 
old, old story! We prize most what. is gone: for- 
ever! 

“And all that dreadful man’s—or woman’s—fault 
at Xn!” cried Nattie, savagely. Unjustly too, for 
if any one was responsible for the accident, it was 
the owner of the nose. 

But not long did Nattie dare give way to her 
misery. That fatal message was not yet received. 
Glancing over the few words she had of it, she 
,’ and then she began 





read ; “Send the hearse 
anxiously “calling” “Xn.” 

- “Hearse,” looked too serious for trifling. But 
either “X n’s” attention was now occupied in some 
other direction, or else he—or she—was too much 
out of humor to reply, for it was full twenty min- 
utes before came the answering, 

ses ab oa 
2 


18 Sounds from a Distant C.”- 


At which Nattie said as fiercely as fingers could, 

“‘T have been after you nearly half an hour !” 

Fave you?” came coolly back from ‘“X n.” 
“ Well, you are not alone, many are after me—my 
landlord among others—not to mention a washer- 
woman or two!” 

Then followed the figure “4,” which means, 
“When shall I go ahead ?” 

“Waxing jocose, are you?” Nattie murmured 
to herself, as she replied: 

“G. A.—hearse ‘: 

“G, A.—wihat ?” 

“‘ Hearse,” repeated Nattie, in firm, clear charac- 





ters. 

To her surprise and displeasure “Xn” laughed 
—the circumstance being conveyed to her under- 
standing in the usual way, by the two letters “Ha!”’ 

“ What are you laughing at?” she asked. 

* At your grave mistake!” was “ X n’s” answer, 
accompanied by another “Ha! To convert a horse 
into a hearse is really an idea that meritsa smile !”’ 

As the consciousness of her blunder dawned 
upon her, Nattie would gladly have sank into 
oblivion. But as that was impossible, she took a 
fresh blank, and very meekly said, 

““G, A.—horse —— !” 

With another laugh, “ X n” complied, and Nattie 


Sounds from a Distant “ GS 19 


now succeeded in receiving the message without 
further mishap. 

“What did you sign?” she asked, as she thank- 
fully wrote the last word. 

Every operator is obliged to sign his own private 
“call,” as well as the office “call,” and “O. K.” at 
the close of each message. 

“C.” was replied to Nattie’s question. 

“O.K. N. Bm,’ she then said, and added, per- 
haps trying to drown the memory of her ludicrous 
error in politeness, “ I hope another time I shall not 
cause you so much trouble.” 

“C” at “X n” was evidently not to be exceeded 
in little speeches of this kind, for he—or she— 
responded immediately, 3 

“On the contrary, it was I who gave you trouble. 
I know I must certainly have done so, or you never 
could have effected such a transformation as you 
did. Imagine the feelings of the sender of that 
message, had he found a hearse awaiting his arrival 
instead of a horse!” 

Biting her lip with secret mortification, but 
determined to make the best of the matter out- 
wardly, Nattie replied, 

“T suppose I never shall hear the last of that 
hearse! But at all events it took the surliness out 
of you.” 


20 Sounds froma Distant “ C.” 


“Yes, when people come to a hearse they are not 
apt to have any more kinks in their disposition! I 
confess, though,” “C” went on frankly, “I was 
unpardonably cross; not surly, that is out of my 
line, but cross. In truth, I was all out of sorts. 
Will you forgive me if I will never do so: again?” 

“Certainly,” Nattierepliedreadily. “I amsure 
we are far enough apart to get on without quarrel- 
ing, if, as they say, distance lends enchantment !” 

“Particularly when I pride myself upon my 
sweet disposition!” said “C.” 

At which Nattie smiled to herself, to the sur- 
prise of a passing gentleman, on whom her uncon- 
scious gaze rested, and who thought, of course, that 
she was smiling at him. 

Appearances are deceitful ! 

“I fear you will have to prove your sweetness 
before I shall believe in it,’ Nattie responded to 
“C,” all unaware of what she had done, or that the 
strange young gentlemian went on his way with the 
firm resolve to pass by that office again and. obtain 
another smile! 

‘It shall be my sole aim hereafter,” “C.” replied; 
and then asked, ‘‘ Have youa pleasant office there?” 

“T regret to say no.” Then looking around, 
and describing what she saw—‘a long, dark little 
room, into which the sun never shines, a crazy and 


Sounds from a Distant “C.” 21 


a wooden chair, a high stool, desk, instruments— 
that isall—Oh! and me!” 

“Last but not least,” said “ C ;” “but what.a con- 
trast to my office! Mine is all windows, and in 
cold days like this the wind whistles in until my 
very bones rattle! The outward view is fine.. As 
I sit I seea stable, a carpenter’s shop, the roof of the 


99 





new Town Hall that kas ruined the town, and 

“ Excuse me,”—some one at another office on the 
line here broke in—and with more politeness than 
is sometimes shown in interrupting conversations 
on the wire—‘I have a message to send,” and 
forthwith began calling. 

At this Nattie resumed her interrupted occupa- 
tion of bewailing her spoiled dress, but at the same 
time she had a feeling of pleased surprise at the 
affability of “C” at “X n.” 

“T wonder,” she thought, as she took up her 
book again, and tried to bury the remembrance of 
her accident therein, “I do wonder if this ‘C’ is 
he or she!” 

Soon, however, she heard “X n” “call” once 
more, and this time she laid her book aside very 
readily. 

“You did not describe the principal part of your 
office—yourself !” “C” said, when she answered 
the “call,” 


22 Sounds from a Distant “C.” 


“How can I describe myself?’ replied Nattie. 
“Flow can any one—properly? One sees that same 
old face in the glass day after day, and becomes so 
used to it that it is almost impossible to ‘notice 
even the changes in it; so I am sure I do not see 
how one can tell how it really does look—unless 
one’s nose is broken—or one’s eyes crossed—and 
mine are not—or one should not see a looking- 
glass for a year! I can only say I am very inky 
just now !” 

“Oh! that is too bad!” “C” said; then, with a 
laugh, “It has always beenasourceof great wonder 
to me how certain very plain people of my acquaint- 
ance could possibly think themselves handsome. 
But I see it all now! Can you not, however, leave 
the beauty out, and give me some sort of an idea 
about yourself for my imagination to work upon?” . 

“Certainly!” replied Nattie, with a mischievous 
twinkle in her eye that “C” knew not of. “Imagine, 


9? 





if you please, a tall young man, with 
“C” “broke” quickly, saying, 
“Oh, no! You cannot deceive me in that way ! 
Under protest I accept the height, but spurn the 
sex !” 
“Why, you do not suppose I am a lady, do 
you?” queried Nattie. 
“Tam quite positive you are. There isa certain 


Sounds from a Distant “ C.” 33 





difference in the “sending,” of a lady and gentle- 
man, that I have learned to distinguish. Can you 
truly say Iam wrong?” 

Nattie evaded a direct reply, by saying, 

“People who think they know so much are often 
deceived ; now I make no surmises about you, but 
ask, fairly and squarely, shall I call you Mr., Miss, 
OReNtrs) oO!) 7y 

“Call me neither. Call me plain ‘C’! Or 
picture, if you like, in place of your sounder, a 
blonde, fairy-like girl talking to you, with pensive 
cheeks and sunny——”’ 

“Don’t you believe a word of it !’—some one 
on the wire here broke in, wishing, probably, to 
hawe a finger in the pie; “ picture a hippopotamus, 
an elephant, but picture no fairy !” 

“Judge not others by yourself, and learn to 
speak when spoken to!” “C” replied to the un- 
known; then “To N.—You know the more mystery 
there is about anything, the more interesting it be- 
comes. Therefore, if I envelop myself in all the 
mystery possible, I will cherish hopes that you may 
dream of me!” 7 

“But I am quite sure you can, with propriety 
be called Wr. ‘C’—plain, as you say, I doubt not,” 
replied Nattie. “Now, as it is time for me to go 
home, I shall have to say good-night.” 


24 Sounds from a Distant “C.” 





“To be continued in our next?” queried “C.” 

“Jf you arenot inacross mood,” replied Nattie. 

“Now that is a very unkind suggestion, after 
my abject apology. But, although our acquaintance 
had a grave re-hearse—al, I trust it will have a happy 
ending !” 

Nattie frowned. 

“If you will promise never to say ‘grave,’ ‘hearse, 
or anything in the undertaking line, I will agree 
never to say ‘cross!’”’ she said. 

The wnadertaking will not be difficult ; with all 
my heart!” “C” answered, and with this mutual 
understanding they bade each other “good-night.” 

“There certainly is something romantic in talking 
to a mysterious person, unseen, and miles away!” 
thought Nattie, as she put on her hat. “But I 
would really like to know whether my new friend 
employs a tailor or a dressmaker !” 

Was Nattie conscious of a feeling that it would 
add to the zest of the romantic acquaintance should 
the distant “‘C” be entitled to the use of the mascu- 
line pronoun ? 

Perhaps so! For Nattie was human, and she 
was only nineteen ! , 


At the Hotel Norman. 25 


CHAPTER IL 
AT THE HOTEL NORMAN. 


ISS NATTIE ROGERS, telegraph operator, 
lived, as it were, in two worlds. The one 


at 


portions, but from whence she could wander away 
? 





her office, dingy and curtailed as to pro- 


through the medium of that slender telegraph wire, 
on a sort of electric wings, to distant cities and 
towns; where, although alone all day, she did not 
lack social intercourse, and where she could amuse 
herself if she chose, by listening to and speculating 
upon the many messages of joy or of sorrow, of 
business and of pleasure, constantly going over 
the wire. But the other world in. which Miss 
Rogers lived was very different; the world 
bounded by the four walls of a back room at 
Miss Betsey Kling’s. It must be confessed that 
there are more pleasing views than sheds in 
greater or less degrees of dilapidation, a sickly 
grape-vine, a line of flapping sheets, an overflow- 
ing ash barrel; sweeter sounds than the dulcet 
notes of old rag-men, the serenades of musical 
cats, or the strains of a cornet played upon at 


26 5 At the Hotel Norman. 


intervals from nine P. M. to twelve, with the evi- 
dent purpose of exhausting superfluous air in the 
performer’s lungs. Perhaps, too, there was more 
agreeable company possible than Miss Betsey 
Kling. 

Therefore, in the evening, Sunday and holiday, 
if not in the telegraphic world of Miss Rogers, 
loneliness, and the unpleasant sensation known as 
“blues” were not uncommon. 

Miss Betsey Kling, who, although in reduced 
circumstances, boasted of certain “blue blood,” 
inherited from dead and gone ancestors—who per- 
haps would have been surprised could they have 
known at this late day how very genteel they were 
in life,—rented a flat in Hotel Norman, on the sec- 
ond floor, of which she let one room; not on 
account of the weekly emolument received there- 
from, ah, no! but “for the sake of having some 
one for company.” In this respect she was truly 
a contrast to Mrs. Simonson, a hundred and sev- 
enty-five pound widow, who lived in the remaining 
suite of that floor, and who let every room she 
possibly could, in order, as she frankly confessed, 
to “make both ends meet.” For a constant strug- 
gle with the “ways and means” whereby to live 
had quite annihilated any superfluous gentility 
Mrs. Simonson might have had, excepting only 


At the Hotel Norman. 27 


one lingering remnant, that would never allow her 
to hang in the window one of those cheaply con- 
spicuous placards, announcing : 

“Rooms to Let.” 

Miss Betsey Kling was a spinster—not because 
she liked it, but on account of circumstances over 
which she had no control,—and her principal ob- 
ject in life, outside of the never-expressed, but 
much thought-of one of finding her other:self, like 
her, astray, was to keep watch and ward over the 
affairs of the occupants of neighboring flats, and 
see that they conducted themselves with the pro- 
priety becoming the neighbors of so very genteel 
and unexceptionable a person as Miss Betsey 
Kling. In pursuit of this occupation she was 
addicted to sudden and silent appearances, much 
after the manner of materialized spirits, at win- 
dows opening into the hall, and doors carelessly 
left ajar. She was, however, afflicted with a 
chronic cold, that somewhat interfered with her 
ability to become a first-class listener, on account 
of its producing an incessant sniffle and spasms of 
violent sneezing. : 

Miss Rogers going home to that back room of 
hers, found herself still pondering upon the probable 
sex of “C.” Rather to her own chagrin, when she 
_ caught her thoughts thus straying, too; for shehad a 


28 At the Hotel Norman. 


certain scorn of anything pertaining to trivial senti- 
ment. A little scorn of herself she also had some- 
times. In fact, her desires reached beyond the ob- 
taining of the every-day commonplaces with which 
so many are content to fill their lives, and she pos- 
sessed an ambition too dominant to allow her to be 
content with the dead level of life. Therefore it 
was that any happy hours of forgetfulness of all 
but the present, that sometimes came in her way, 
were often followed by others of unrest and dissatis- 
faction. There were certain dreams she indulged 
in of the future, now hopefully, now utterly dis- 
heartened, that she was so far away from their reali- 
zation. These dreams were of fame, of fame as an 
authoress. Whether it was the true genius stirring 
within her, or that most unfortunate of all things, 
an unconquerable desire without the talent to rise 
above mediocrity, time alone could tell. 

Compelled by the failure and subsequent death 
of her father to support herself, or become a bur- 
den upon her mother, whose now scanty means 
barely sufficed for herself and two younger children, 
Nattie chose the more independent, but harder 
course. For she was not the kind of girl to sit 
down and wait for some one to come along and 
marry her, and relieve her of the burden of self- 
support. So, from a telegraph office inthe country, 


At the Hotel Norman. 29 


where she learned the profession, she drifted to her 
present one in the city. 

To her, as yet, there was a certain fascination 
about telegraphy. But she had a presentiment that 
in time the charm would give place to monotony, 
more especially as, beyond a certain point, there 
was positively no advancement in the profession. 
Although knowing she could not be content to 
always be merely a telegraph operator, she resolved 
to like it as well and as long as she could, since it 
was the best for the present. 

As she lighted the gas in her room, she thought 
not of these things that were so often in her mind, 
but of “C,” and then scolded herself for caring 
whether that distant individual was man or woman. 
What mattered it toa young lady who felt herself 
above flirtations? 

So there was a little scowl on her face as she 
turned around, that did not lessen when she beheld 
Miss Kling standing in her door-way. For Miss 
Rogers did not, to speak candidly, find her landlady 
a congenial spirit, and only remained upon her 
premises because being there was a lesser evil than 
living in that most unhomelike of all places, a 
boarding-house. : 

“T thought I would make you a call,” the unwel- 
come visitor remarked, rubbing her nose, that from: 


30 At the Hotel Norman. 


constant friction had become red and shining; “1 
‘have been lonesome to-day. I usually run into 
Mrs. Simonson’s in the afternoon, but she has been 
out since twelve o’clock. I can’t make out—” 
musingly, “where she can have gone! not that she 
is just the company I desire. She has never been 
used to anything above the common, poor soul, and 
will say ‘them rooms,’ but she is better than no 
one, and at least can appreciate in others the cul- 
ture and standing she has never attained,” and Miss 
Kling sneezed, and glanced at Nattie with an ex- 
pression that plainly said her lodger would do well 
to imitate, in this last respect, the lady in question. 

“T am very little acquainted with Mrs. Simon- 

son,” Nattie replied, with a tinge of scorn curling 
her lip, for, in truth, she had little reverence for 
Miss Kling’s blue blood. ‘Her lodgers like her 
very much, I believe; at least, Quimby speaks of 
her in the highest terms.” 

“Quimby !” repeated Miss Kling, with a sniffle 
of contempt. “A blundering, awkward creature, 
who is always doing or saying some shocking 
thing !” 

“T know that he is neither elegant nor talented, 
and is often very awkward, but he is honest and 
kind-hearted, and one is willing to overlook other 

. deficiencies for such rare qualities,” Nattie replied, 


At the Hotel Norman. ees 


a little warmly, “and so Mrs, Simonson feels, lam 
confident.” 

Miss Kling eyed her sharply. 

“ Not at all! Allow me, Miss Rogers, to know! 
Mrs. Simonson endures his blunders, because, as 
she says, he can live on the interest of his money, 
‘on a pinch,’ and she thinks such a lodger some- 
thing of which to boast. On a pinch, indeed !” 
added Miss Kling, with a sneeze, and giving the 
principal feature in her face something very like 
the exclamation, ‘a very tight pinch it would be, I 
am thinking!’ Then somewhat spitefully she con- 
tinued, ‘But I was not aware, Miss Rogers, that 
you and this Quimby were so intimate! The ad- 
miration is mutual, I suppose ?” 

‘““There is no admiration,” replied Nattie, with 
a flash of her gray eyes, inwardly indignant that 
any one should insinuate she admired Quimby— 
honest, blundering Quimby, whom no one ever 
allowed a handle to his name, and who was so clever, 
but like all clever people, such a dreadful bore. “TI 
have only met him two or three times since that 
evening you introduced us in the hall, so there has 
hardly been an opportunity for anything of that 
kind.” 

“You spoke so warmly !” Miss Kling remarked. 

‘However,’ conciliatingly, “I don’t suppose by 


32 At the Hotel Norman. 


any means that you are in love with Quimby ! 
You are much too sensible a young lady for such 
folly !” 

Nattie shrugged her shoulders, as if tired of the 
subject, and after a spasm of sneezing, Miss Kling 
continued : 

“As you intimate, he means all right, poor fel- 
low! and that is more than I should be willing 
to acknowledge regarding Mrs. Simonson’s o¢her 
lodger, that Mr. Norton, who calls himself an artist. 
Iam sure I never saw any one except a convict wear 
such short hair!” and Miss Kling shook her head 
insinuatingly. 

From this beginning, to Nattie’s dismay, Miss 
Kling proceeded to the dissection of their neigh- 
bors who lived in the suite above, Celeste Fish- 
blate and her father. The former, Miss Kling 
declared, was setting her cap for Quimby. Mr. 
Fishblate being an unquestionably disagreeable 
specimen of the genus homo, with a somewhat start- 
ling habit of exploding in short, but expressive 
sentences—never using more than three consecutive 
words—Nattie naturally expected to hear him even 
- more severely anathematized than any one else. But 
to her surprise, the lady conducting the conversa- 
tion declared him a “fine sensible man!” At which 
Nattie first stared, and then smiled, as it occurred 


~ 


At the Hotel Nokonun. : 33 


to her that Mr. Fishblate was a widower, and might 
it not be that Miss Kling contemplated the possi- 
bility of és becoming that other self not yet 
attained ? 

Fortunately Miss Kling did not observe her 
lodger’s looks, so intent was she in admiration of 
Mr. Fishblate’s fine points, and soon took her 
leave. 

After her departure, Nattie changed her inky 
dress, and put on her hat to go out for something 
forgotten until now. As she stepped into the hall, 
a tall young man, with extremely long arms and 
legs, and mouth, that, although shaded by a faint 
outline of a mustache, invariably suggested an 
alligator, opened the door of Mrs. Simonson’s 
rooms, opposite, and seeing Nattie, started back in 
a sort of nervous bashfulness. Recovering himself, 
he then darted out with such impetuosity that his 
foot caught in a rug, he fell, and went headlong 
_ down stairs, dragging with him a fire-bucket, at 
which he clutched in a vain effort to save himself, 
the two jointly making a noise that echoed through 
the silent halls, and brought out the inhabitants of 
the rooms in alarm. 

“What is it? Is any one killed?’ shrieked 
from above, a voice, recognizable as that of Celeste 

3 : 


hte ge At the Hotel Norman. - 


Fishblate—two names that could never ee any pos- 
sibility sound harmonious. 

“What zs the matter now ?” screamed Miss Kling, 
appearing at her door with the query. 

“Have you hurt yourself?” Nattie asked, as she 
went down to where the hero of the catastrophe sat 
onthe bottom stair, ruefully rubbing his elbow, 
but who now picked up his hat and the fire-bucket, 
and rose to explain. 

“It’s nothing—nothing at all, you know!” he 
said, looking upward, and bowing to the voices; “I 





caught my foot in the rug, and 

“Did you tear the rug?” here anxiously inter- 
rupted the listening Mrs. Simonson, suddenly 
appearing at the banisters; not that she felt for 
her lodger less, but for the rug more, a distinction 
arising from that constant struggle with the “ ways 
‘and means.” 

“Oh, no! I assure you, there was no damage 
done to the rug—or fire-bucket,’” the victim re- 
sponded, reassuringly, and in perfect good faith. 
“Or myself,” he added modestly, as if the latter 
was scarce worth speaking of. “I—I am used to 
it, you know,” reverting to his usual expression in 
accidents of all descriptions. 

TJ declare I don’t know what you will do 


At the Hotel Norman. 35 





1”? 


next!” muttered Mrs. Simonson, retreating to ex- 


amine the rug. 

“IT think you must be in love, Quimby !” 
giggled Celeste; an assertion that caused Miss 
Kling to give vent to a contemptuous “ Humph,” 
and awakened in its subject the most excruciating 
embarrassment. The poor fellow glanced at Nat- 
tie, blushed, perspired, and frantically clutching at 
the fire-bucket, stammered a protest,— 

‘““Now really—I—now !—you are mistaken, you 
know !” 

“But people who are in love are always absent- 


minded,” persisted Celeste, with another giggle. 


” 





** So it is useless to 

But exactly what was useless did not appear, as 
at this point a stentorian voice, the voice of Miss 
Kling’s “fine, sensible man,” roared, 

“ Knough !” | 

At which, to Quimby’s relief, Celeste, always in 
mortal fear of her father, hastily withdrew. Not 
so Miss Kling. She silently waited to see if Nattie 
-and Quimby would go out together, and was 
rewarded by hearing the latter ask, as Nattie made 
a movement towards the door,— 

‘“May I—might I be so bold as to—as to ask to 
be your escort ?” 

“IT should be pleased,” Nattie answered, adding 


36 At the Hotel Norman. 


with a mischievous glance, but in a low tone, aware 
of the listening ears above,— 

“That is, if you will consent to dispense with 
the fire-bucket !” 

Quimby started, and dropping the article in 
question, as if it had suddenly turned red-hot, 
ejaculated,— 

“Bless my soul! really I—I beg pardon, I am 
sure!” then bashfully offering his arm, they went 
out, while Miss-Kling balefully shook her head. 

“‘So, Celeste will insist upon it that you are in 
love, because you tripped and fell down stairs !” 
Nattie said, by way of opening a conversation as 
they walked along—a remark that did not tend to 
lessen his evident disquietude. And having now 
no fire-bucket, he clutched at. his necktie, twirling 
it all awry, not at all to the improvement of his 
personal appearance, as he replied,— 

“Oh! really, you know! its no matter! I—I 
am used to it, you know !” 

“Used to falling in love?” queried Nattie, with 
raised eyebrows. 

“ No—no—the other, you know, that is—” gasped 
Quimby, hopelessly lost for a substantive. “I. 
mean, it’s a mistake, you know,” then with a despe- 
rate rush away from the embarrassing subject, “‘ Did 


At the Hotel Norman. 37. 


you know we—that is, Mrs. Simonson, was going 
to have a new lodger ?” 

“No, is she?” asked Nattie. 

“Yes, ayoung lady coming to-morrow, a—a sort 
of an actress—no, a prima donna, you know. A 
Miss Archer. If you and she should happen to 
like each other, it would be pleasant for you, now 
wouldn’t it?’ asked Quimby eagerly, with a devout 
hope that such might be, for then should he not bea 
gainer by seeing more often the young lady by his 
side, whose gray eyes had already made havoc in 
his honest and susceptible heart. 

“Tt would be pleasant,” acquiesced Nattie, in 
utter unconsciousness of Quimby’s selfish hidden 
thought ; “for I am lonely sometimes. Miss Kling 


99 





is not—not 

“Oh, certainly! of course not!’ Quimby re- 
sponded sympathetically and understandingly, as 
Nattie hesitated for a word that would express her 
meaning. ‘They never are very adaptable—old 
maids, you know !” 

“But it isn’t because they are unmarried,” said 
Nattie, perhaps feeling called upon to defend her 
future self, “but because they were born so!” 

“Exactly, you know, that’s why no fellow ever 
marries them !’’ said Quimby, with a glance of bash- 
ful admiration at his companion. 


38 At the Hotel Norman. 


Nattie laughed. 

“And this Miss Archer. Did you say she was a 
prima donna?” she questioned. 

“Ves—that is, a sort of a kind of a one, or going 
to be, or some way musical or theatrical, you know,” 
was Quimby’s lucid reply. “T’ll make it a point to 
—to introduce you if you will allow me that 
pleasure ?” 

“Certainly,” responded Nattie, and added, “I 
shall be quite rich, for me, in acquaintances soon, if 
I continue asI have begun. I made a new one on 
the wire to-day.” 

“On the—I beg pardon—on the what?’ asked 
Quimby, with visions of tight-ropes flashing 
through his mind. 

“On the wire,” repeated Nattie, to whom the 
phrase was so common, that it never occurred to 
her as needing any explanation. 

“Oh!” said the puzzled Quimby, not at all com- 
prehending, but unwilling to confess his ignorance. 

“The worst of it is, I don’t know the sex of my 
new friend, which makes it a little awkward,” con- 
tinued Nattie. 

Quimby stared. 

“ Don’t—I beg pardon—don’t know her—his— 
sex ?” he repeated, with wide-open eyes. 

“No, it was on the wire, you know !” again ex- 


At the Hotel Norman. 39 


plained Nattie, privately thinking him unusually 
stupid ; “about seventy miles away. We first quar- 
reled and then had a pleasant talk.” 

“Talk—seventy miles—” faltered the perplexed 
Quimby ; then brightening, “Oh! I see! a tele- 
phone, you know !” | 

‘““No indeed!” replied Nattie, laughing at his 
incomprehensibility. “We don’t need telephones. 
We can talk without—did you not know that? And 
what. is better, no one but those who understand 
our language can know what we say !” 

“Exactly!” answered Quimby, relapsing again 
into wonder. ‘“Exactly—on the wire!” 

“Yes, we talk in a language of dots and dashes, 
that even Miss Kling might listen to in vain. And 
do you know,” she went on confidentially, ‘“some- 
how, I am very much interested in my new friend. 
I wish I knew—its so awkward, as I said—but I © 
really think it’s a gentleman !” . 

“ Exactly—exactly so!’ responded Quimby, 
somewhat dejectedly. And during the remainder 
of their walk he was very much harassed in his 
mind over this interest Nattie confessed in her 
new friend—‘“ on the wire,’—who would appear as 
a tight-rope performer to his perturbed imagina- 
tion. And he felt in his inmost heart that it would 
be a great relief to his mind if this mysterious per- 


40 : Visible and Invisible Friends. 


——— 





son should prove a lady, even though, if a gentle- 
man, he was many miles away. For Quimby, with 
all his obtusity, had an inkling of the power of 
_mystery, and was already far enough on the road 
to love to be jealous. 

Of these thoughts Nattie was of course wholly 
unaware, and chatted gayly, now of the distant 
“C” and now of the coming Miss Archer, to her 
somewhat abstracted, but always devoted com- 


panion. 


CHAPTER III. 
VISIBLE AND INVISIBLE FRIENDS. 


ITH perhaps one or two less frowns than 
usual at the destiny that compelled her 
to forego any morning naps, and be up 

and stirring at the early hour of six o’clock, Nattie 
arose next morning, aware of a more than accus- 
tomed willingness to go to the office. And imme- 
diately on her arrival there, she opened the key, 
and said, without calling, just to ascertain if her 
far-away acquaintance would notice it,— 

“G, M. (good morning) C !” 


Vistble and Invisible Friends. An sn 


Apparently “C” had his or her ears on the 
alert, for immediately came the response, 

Arent iny, Geary: , 

A form of expression rather familiar for so 
short an acquaintance, that is, supposing “C” to 
be a gentleman. “But then, people talk for the 
sake of talking, and never say what they mean on 
the wire,” thought Nattie. Besides, did not the 
distance in any case annul the familiarity? There- 
fore, without taking offense, even without com- 
ment, she asked: 

“Are we to get along to-day without quar- 
reling ?” 

“Oh! it is you, is it, ‘N’?” responded “C,” 
‘I thought so, but wasn’t quite sure. Yes, you, 
may ‘break’ at every word, and I will still be 
amiable.” | 

“T should be afraid to put you to the test,” 
replied Nattie, with a laugh. 

“Do you then think me such a hopelessly ill- 
natured fellow ?” inquired “C.” 

“ Fellow !” triumphantly repeated Nattie. “Be 
careful, or you will betray yourself!” © 

“Ha, ha!” laughed “C.” “Stupid enough of 
me, wasn’t it? But it only proves the old adage 
about giving a man rope enough to hang himself.” 

“Don’t mention old adages, for I detest them !’ 


42 Visible and Invisible Friends. 


said Nattie. “Especially that one about the early 
bird and the worm. But I fear, as a mystery, you 
are not a success, Mr. ‘C.’” 

“ A very bad attempt ata pun,” said “C.” “TI 
trust, however, you will not desert me, now your 
curiosity is satisfied, Miss ‘N.’?” 

“Don’t be in such a hurry to miss me. I have 
said nothing yet to give you that right,” Nattie 
replied. 

“Nevertheless, it’s utterly impossible not to 

miss you. I missed you last night after you had 
- gone home, for instance. But you, a great, hulking 
fellow! No, indeed! In my mind’s eye a 





But what was in “C’s” mind’s eye did not just 
then appear, for at this interesting point some 
one at Naftie’s window, saying, “I would like to 
send a message,” obliged her reluctantly to inter- 
‘rupt him with, | 

“Excuse me a moment, a customer is waiting.” 

She then turned as much of her attention as she 
could separate from “C” to the customer, enabled, 
perhaps, to answer the volley of miscellaneous 
questions poured upon her with unusual affability, 
on account of the settlement—and in the right 
‘direction !—of that vexed question of “C's??igéx? 

But she could not help thinking, as she glanced 
at the message finally written, and handed to her, 


Visible and Invisible Friends. - 43 


that had the writer attended a little more to the 
spelling-book, and a little less to the accumulation 
of diamond rings, it might have been a very wise 
proceeding. But perhaps 

“Meat me at the train,” was sufficiently intel- 
ligible for all purposes. 

“What was it about your mind’s eye?” Nattie | 
asked over the wire, at the first opportunity. 

“C” was again on the alert, without being 
called, for the answer came, after a moment, just 
long enough for him to cross the room, per- 
haps. : 

“As I was saying, in the eye aforesaid, me- 
thinks I see a tall slim young lady with blue eyes 
and light hair, and dimples that come into her 
cheeks when I stupidly betray my sex.” 

As “C” said this, Nattie glanced into the glass 
just over her head at the reflection of her face. A 
face whose expression was its charm; that never 
could be called pretty, but that nevertheless sug- 
gested a possibility—only a possibility, of being 
handsome. For there is a vast difference between 
pretty and handsome. Pretty people seldom know 
very much; but to be handsome, a person must 
have brains; an inner as well as an outer beauty. 

“ How fortunate it is you are not near enough 
to be disenchanted!” Nattie replied to “C.” “Your 


44 Visible and Invisible Friends. 


mind’s eye is very unreliable. Tall! why, I’m only 
five feet! never was guilty of a dimple, and my 
eyes are of some dreadfully nondescript color.” 

“If you are only five feet, you never can look 
down on me, which isa great consolation,” “C” re- 
sponded. ‘“ And for the rest imagination will clothe 
the unseen with all possible beauty and grace.” 

“T am sure I am perfectly willing you should 
imagine me as beautiful as you please,” replied 
Nattie, “As long as we don’t come face to face, 
which in all probability we never shall, you will 
not know how different from the real was the 
ideal.” 

“Please don’t discourage me so soon, for I hope 
sometime we may clasp hands bodily as we do now 
Spiritually, on the wire—for we do, don’t we?” said 
“C” asserting before he questioned. 

“ Certainly—here is mine, spiritually !” respond- 
ed Nattie, without the least hesitation, as she thought 
of the miles of safe distance between. “ Now may 
I ask—” | 

“Oh! come, come! this will never do! You 
are getting on altogether too fast for people 
who were quarreling so yesterday !” broke in a 
third party, who signed, “ Em.” and was a young 
lady wire-acquaintane of Nattie’s, some twenty 
miles distant. 


Visible and Invisible Friends. 45 


“You think the circuit of our friendship ought 
to be broken ?” queried Nattie. 

“Ah! leave that to time and change, by which 
all circuits are broken,” remarked “ C.” 

“Yes, but such a sudden friendship is sure to 
come toa violent end,’ Em. said. “Suppose now 
I should report you for talking so much—not to 
say flirting—on the wire, which is against the rules 
you know?” 

“Tn that event I should know how to be revenged, 
replied “ C.” “I should put on my ‘ground’ wire and 
cut off communication between you and that little 
fellow at Z!” 

Em. laughed, and perhaps feeling herself rather 
weak on that point, subsided, and Nattie began, 
“ Sentiment—” 

But the pretty little speech on that subject she 
had all ready was spoiled by an operator—who evi- 
dently had none of it in his soul—usurping the wire 
with the prefaced remark, . 

“ Get out !” 

The wire being unusually busy, this was all the 
conversation Nattie and “C” had during the day, 
~ but just before six o’clock came the call, 

“Bm—B m—B m—X n.” 
“Bm,” immediately responded Nattie. 
“T merely want to ask for my character before 


46 Visible and Invisible Friends. 


saying g.n. (good night). Haven’t I been amiable 
to-day ?” was asked from X n. cate 

“Very, but there is no merit in it, as Mark Tap- 
ley would say,” replied Nattie. ‘“ You had no 
provocation.” 

“Now I flattered myself L had ‘come out 
strong!’ Alas! what a hard thing it is to establish 
one’s reputation,” said “C,” sagely ; “but I trust 
to Time, who, after all, is a pretty good fellow to 
right matters, notwithstanding a dreadful careless 
way he has of strewing crow’s feet and wrink- 
les.” 

“Has he dropped any down your way ?” asked 
Nattie. 

“Hinting to know my age now, are you? Oh! 
curiosity ! curiosity! Yes, I think he has im- 
planted a perceptible crow’s foot or two; but he 
has spared the hairs of my head, and for that I am 
thankful! Did you ever seean aged operator? I 
never did, and don’t know whether it’s because 
electricity acts as a sort of antidote, or whether 
they grow wise as they grow old, and leave the 
business. The case is respectfully submitted.” 

“Your organs of discernment must be very fully 
developed,” Nattie replied. “It is fortunate I am 
too far away to be analyzed personally; but I 
don’t think I will stay after hours to discuss these 


Visible and Invisible Friends. 47 


things to-night. I am tired, for I have had a run of 
disagreeable people to-day. So g. n.” 

‘i Geon pimy dear, said the: pabant #-O;uidn 
whose composition bashfulness seemed certainly to 
have no part. But then—as Nattie previously had 
thought—he was along way off. 

It must be confessed “C” could hardly fail to 
have been flattered had he known how full Nattie’s 
thoughts were of him, as she went home that night. 
A little foolish in the young lady, who rather prided . 
herself on being strong-minded, this deep interest ; 
but hers was a lonely life, poor girl,and “C” was 
certainly entertaining ‘“ over the wire,’ whatever 
he might be in a personal interview—of course, 
not very likely to occur. No! it was all “over the 
wire !” 

As she reached her own door, absorbed in these 
meditations, she heard the sound of a merry laugh 
over in Mrs. Simonson’s, and saw a large trunk in 
the hall. From this she inferred that Miss Archer 
had arrived, a fact Miss Kling confirmed, with 
uplifted eyebrows, and the remark, 

“There must be something wrong about a 
young woman who has ¢ree immense trunks!” 

Although Nattie felt a desire to make this new- 
comer’s acquaintance, it was less strong than it 
‘might have been had she arrived a week sooner ; 


48 Visible and Invisible Friends. 


for it was undoubtedly true that the interest she 
had in her new invisible friend far exceeded that 
towards a possible visible one. Such is the power 

of mystery ! 

The office now possessed a new charm for her. 
To the surprise of an idle’clerk in an office over 
the way, who had always noted how particular she 
was to arrive at exactly eight A. M., and to leave 
precisely at six P. M., she suddenly began to 
appear before hours in the morning, and to stay 
after hours at night. Of course this benighted 
person was not aware that by so doing she secured 
quiet chats with “C,” uninterrupted, and without 
being told in the middle of some pretty speech to 
“Shut up!” or to “Keep out!” by some soured 
and inelegant operator on the line, to whom 
the romance of telegraphy had long ago given 
_ place to the monotonous, poorly-paid, everyday 
reality. 

And it came to pass that “C” soon shared all 
her daily life, thoughts and troubles. Annoyances 
became hghter because she told him, and he 
sympathized. Any funny incident that occurred 
was doubly funny, because they laughed over it 
together, and so it went on. | 

That “good-night, dear,” previously unchal- 
lenged, became a regular institution; and still, on 


Vistble and Invisible Friends. 49 


Z 





account of those long miles between them, Nattie 
made only a faint remonstrance when his usual 
morning salutation grew into ‘“ Good-morning, 
little five-foot girl at Bm!” then was shortened 
to ‘“ Good-morning, little girl !” 

And all this time it never occurred to them that 
excepting “N ” was for Nattie, and “C” for Clem, 
they knew really nothing about each other, not 
even their names. 

Thus the acquaintance went on, amid much 
banter from the before-mentioned “ Em.,’ and 
interruptions from disgusted old settlers. 

It was by no means to the satisfaction of 
Quimby, that Miss Rogers should thus allow the 
telegraphic world to supersede the one in which 
he had a part. That intimacy with Miss Archer, 
of which he had dreamed, as a means of improving 
his own acquaintance with her towards whom his 
susceptible heart yearned, did not make even a 
beginning. In fact, what with Nattie being en- 
gaged all day, and stopping after hours for a quiet 
talk with “C,”’ and Miss Archer having many even- 
ing engagements, the two had never even met. 
And how a young man was to make himself agree- 
able in the eyes of a young lady he only caught a 
glimpse of occasionally, was a problem quite 
_ beyond solution by the brain of Quimby. 

4 


50 Visible and Invisible Friends. 


Two or three times, in his distraction of mind, 
he had stood in very light clothing, about Nattie’s 
hour of returning home, full twenty-five minutes 
at the outer door of the hotel, with a cold wind 
blowing on him. But Nattie, utterly unconscious 
of this devotion, was enjoying the conversation of 
“C,;” and so at last, half frozen, poor Quimby was 
compelled to retreat, his object unaccomplished. 
He would willingly have wandered about the 
halls for hours, and waylaid her, had it not been 
that the fear of those two terrific ones, Miss Kling 
and Mr. Fishblate, “‘ catching him at it,” prevailed 
over all other considerations. As for going to her 
office, Quimby, in his bashfulness, dared not even 
walk through the street containing it, lest she 
should penetrate his motives, and be offended at his 
presumption. Under these circumstances he began 
to despair of ever having the opportunity, to say 
nothing of the ability, of making an impression, 
when one afternoon he chanced to meet Miss 
Archer in the vicinity of Nattie’s office, and was 
instantly overwhelmed by a brilliant idea; that 
was to ask Miss Archer—to whom he had talked 
much of Nattie during their short acquaintance— 
if she would call on her with him, omitting the fact _ 
that he dared not go alone. 

Miss Archer, a little curious to see the lady 


Visible and Invisible Friends. | 51 


with whom, she was secretly convinced, Quimby 
was in love, readily consented to the proposition ; 
and so it came to pass that Nattie was interrupted 
in an account she was giving “C” of a man who 
wanted to send a message to his wife, and seemed 
to think “ My wife, in Providence,” all the address 
necessary, by the unexpected apparition of Quimby, 
accompanied by a stylish and handsome young 
lady. 

“TI beg pardon, if I—if I intrude, you know,” 
he stammered, beginning to wish he had not done 
it, as Nattie, with an “ Excuse me, visitors,” to “C,” 
rose and came forward. ‘“ But I—I brought Miss 
Archer! To make you acquainted, you know.” 

‘“‘T am indebted to you for that pleasure,” Nattie 
_ said, with a smile, as she took the hand Miss 
Archer extended, saying, 

“T have heard Quimby speak about you so 
much, I already feel acquainted.” 

Quimby blushed, and nervously fingered his 
necktie. | 

“Such near neighbors—so lonesome—thought 
you ought to know each other,” he said confusedly 

“Yes, I began to fear we were destined never to 
meet,” Nattie replied, as she held the private door 
open for her visitors to enter, a proceeding con- 
trary to rules, but she preferred rather to trans- 


52 Visible and Invisible Friends. 





gress in this way, than in manners, and leave her 
callers standing out in the cold. 

“JT don’t know as we ever should, had it not 
been for Quimby,” said Miss Archer, glancing 
curiously around the office. “I believe I never 
‘was in a telegraph office before. Don’t you find 
the confinement rather irksome ?” | 

“Sometimes,” Nattie replied; “but then there 
always is some one to talk with ‘on the wire,’ and 
in that way a good deal of the time passes.” * 

“Talk with—on the wire?” queried Miss 
Archer, with -uplifted eyebrows. “What does 
that mean? Do tell me, I am as ignorant as a 
Hottentot about anything appertaining to teleg- 
raphy. Nearly all I know is, you write a mes- 
sage, pay for it, and it goes.” | 

Nattie smiled and explained, and then turning 
to Quimby, asked, 

“You remember my speaking about ‘C,’ and 
wondering whether a gentleman or lady ?” 

“Oh, yes !” Quimby remembered, and fidgeted 
on his chair. 

“He proved to be a gentleman.” 

“Oh, yes; exactly, you know !” responded 
Quimby, looking anything but elated. 

“It must be very romantic and fascinating to 
talk with some one so far away, a mysterious 


Visible and Invisible Friends. 53 





stranger too, that one has never seen,” Miss Archer 
said, her black eyes sparkling. “I should get up a 
nice little sentimental affair immediately, I know I 
should, there is something so nice about anything 
with a mystery to it.” 

“Yes, telegraphy has its romantic side—it 
would be dreadfully dull if it did not,” Nattie an- 
swered. 

“ But—now really,” said Quimby, who sat on 
the extreme edge of the chair, with his feet some 
two yards apart from each other; “really, you 
know, now suppose—just suppose, your mysterious 
‘invisible shouldn’t be—just what you think, you 
know. You see, I remember one or two young 
men in telegraph offices, whose collars and cuffs 
-are always soiled, you know!” 

“T have great faith in my ‘C,’”: laeked Nattie. 

“Tt would be dreadfully unromantic to fall in 
love with a soiled invisible, wouldn’t it,’ said Miss 
Archer, with an expressive shrug of her shoulders. 

Nattie colored a little, and answered hastily ; 

“Oh! it’s only fun, you know;” at which 
Quimby brightened, and Miss Archer inquired 
gayly, 

“ Pour passer le temps?” 

Nattie nodded in reply, as she took a message 
‘from a lady, who had only a few words to send, 


54° Visible and Invisible Friends. 


but found it necessary to ask about fifteen ques- 
tions, and relate all her recent family history, con- 
cluding with the birth of twins, before being satis- 
fied her message would go all right,—a proceeding 
that made Quimby stare, and afforded Miss Archer 
“much amusement. 

“Oh! that is nothing!’ Nattie said, in answer 
to the latter’s significant laugh, when the customer 
had retired. “Some very ludicrous incidents occur 
almost daily, I assure you. Truly, the ignorance 
of people in regard to telegraphy is surprising ; 
aggravating too, sometimes. Just imagine a person 
thinking a telegraph office is managed on the same 
principle as those stores where they at first charge 
double the value of the goods, for the sake of giv- 
ing people the pleasure of beating them down! 
It was only yesterday that a woman tried to coax 
me to take off ten cents, and then snarled at me 
because I wouldn't, and declared she would patron- 
ize some other office next time, as if it mattered to 
me, except to wish she might! And there was 
some one calling on the wire with a rush message 
all the time she was detaining me!” | 

“They think you ought-to be harnessed with a 
punch, like a horse-car conductor,” said Miss 
Archer, laughing, and added, 

“I wish I knew how to telegraph, I would have 





Visible and Invisible Friends. 55 





a chat with your ‘C.’ I am getting very much 
interested in him !” 

Quimby twirled his hat uneasily. 

“But—I beg pardon, but he may be a soiled 
invisible, you know!” he hinted, seemingly deter- 
mined to keep this possibility uppermost. 

Before Nattie could again defend her “C” a 
woman, covered with cheap finery, thrust her head 
into the window. 

“iow much does it cost to telegram ?” she asked. 

“To what place did you wish to send?” Nattie 
inquired. 

With a look, as if she considered this a very 
impertinent question, the woman replied, with a 
slight toss of her head, _ 

“Tt’s no matter about the place, I only want to 
know what it costs to telegram !” 

“That depends entirely on where the message is 
going,’ answered Nattie, with a glance at Miss 
Archer. 

“Oh, does it?’ said the woman, looking sur- 
prised. ‘‘ Well, to Chicago, then.” 

Nattie told her the tariff to that city. 

“Ts that the cheapest?’ she then asked. “TI 
only want to send a few words, about six.” 

“The price is the same for one or ten words,” 
said Nattie rather impatiently. 


56 Visible and Invisible Friends, 


The woman gave another surprised stare. 

“That’s strange!’ she said _ incredulously. 
“Well ”—moving away—“I’ll write then; I am 
not going to pay for ten words when I want to 
send six.” 

“That is a specimen of the ignorance you were 
just speaking of, I presume,” laughed Miss Archer, 
as soon as the would-be sender was out of hearing. 

“Yes,” replied Nattie, “ it’s hard to make them 
believe sometimes that everything less than ten 
words is a stated price, and that we only charge per 
word after that number. And, speaking of igno- 
rance, do you know I once actually had a letter 
brought me, all sealed, to be sent that way by tele- 
graph.” | 

Miss Archer laughed again, and Quimby in- 
quired, 

“‘I—I beg pardon, but did I understand that the 
last came within your experience?” 

“Yes,” Nattie replied, “and I had a young 
woman come in here once, who asked me to write 
the message for her, and after I had done so, ina 
somewhat hasty scrawl, she took it, looked it all 
over critically, dotted some ‘i’s,’ and crossed some 
‘t’s,’ I all the time staring, amazed, and wondering 
if she supposed I could not read my own hand-writ- 


Visible and Invisible Friends. 57 


ing, then scowled and threw it down disgustedly 
saying, ‘John never can read ¢hat/ I shall have to 
write it myself. He knows my writing !’” 

“Can such things be!” cried Miss Archer. 

“But,” asked Quimby, from his uncomfortable 
perch on the edge of the chair, “ Isn’t there a— 
a something—a fac-simile arrangement ?” 

. “T believe there is, but it is not yet perfected,” 
replied Nattie. 

“Ah, well! then the young woman was only 
in advance of the age,” said Miss Archer; ‘and 
what with that and the telephone, and that dreadful 
phonograph that bottles up all one says and dis- 
gorges at inconvenient times, we will soon be able 
to do everything by electricity; who knows but 
some genius will invent something for the especial 
use of lovers? something, for instance, to carry in 
their pockets, so when they are far away from 
each other, and pine for a sound of ‘that beloved 
voice,’ they will have only to take up this electrical 
apparatus, put it to their ears, and be happy. Ah! 
blissful lovers.of the future !” 

“Yes !—I—yes, that would be a good idea!” 
cried Quimby eagerly; then instantly fearing he 
had betrayed himself, turned red, and clutched at 
the mustache that eluded his grasp. Miss Archer 
_ looked at him and smiled, and Nattie was about to 


58 Visible and I, nvisible Friends. 


expound further when she heard “C” asking on 
the wire, 

‘“N, haven’t your visitors gone yet? Tell them 
to hurry !” 

“You wouldn’t say so,’ Nattie responded to 
him, “if you knew what a handsome young lady 
one of my two visitors is. We have been talking 
about you, too.” 

“Introduce me, please do,” said “C.” 

“What are you doing, now ?” asked Miss Archer, 
watchful of Nattie’s smiling face. 

Leaving the key open, Nattie explained, to 
Quimby’s unconcealed dissatisfaction; but Miss 
Archer was delighted. 

“Oh! do introduce me! Can you any way?” 
she said. 

Nattie nodded affirmatively, and taking hold of 
the key, wrote, “She is as anxious as you are. So 
allow me to make you acquainted with Miss Archer, 
a young lady with the prettiest black eyes I ever 
saw !” 

“Is she an operator?” asked “C.” 

“Doesn't know a dot from a dash,” Nattie an- 
swered him. 

“Then tell her in plain language, that this is 
the happiest moment of my life, and also that 
black eyes are my especial adoration !” 


Visible and Invisible Friends. 59 


“What have you been telling him about me, 
you dreadful girl?” queried Miss Archer, shaking 
her head remonstratingly when this was repeated 
to her. “But you may inform him I am delighted 
to make his acquaintance, and hope he _ has 
curly hair, because it’s so. nice to pull!” 

“With the hope of such a happy occurrence, 
I will hereafter do up my hair in papers,” “C” re- 
plied when Nattie had repeated this to him. “But 
do not slight your other visitor.” 

“ Shall I introduce you ?” asked Nattie holding 
the key open, and turning to Quimby, who had 
betrayed various symptoms of uneasiness while 
this conversation was going on, and who now 
grasped his hat firmly, as if to throw it at the little 
sounder that represented the offending Cy atid 
answered, ? 

“Oh, no! I—really I—I beg. pardon, but it’s 
really no matter about me—you know !” 

“He says he is of no consequence,” Nattie said 
ey | al | 

wtie |? repeated Cy" "ache isitroOugnial to 
be jealous? Is it you, or our black-eyed friend who 
is the attraction ?”’ 

Nattie replied only with a ha! 

“Ts he talking now?” asked Miss Archer, 


60 Visible and Invisible Friends. 


mindful of Nattie’s smile, and nodding towards the 
clattering sounder, at which Quimby was scowling. 

“No, some other office is sending business now, 
SO our conversation is suspended,” answered Nattie, 
as much to Quimby’s relief as to Miss Archer’s 
regret. 
“T shall improve the acquaintance, however,” 
the latter said. ‘I am very curious to know how 
he looks, aren’t you ?” 

“Yes, but I do not suppose I ever shall,” Nattie 
answered. | 

“Then you—I beg pardon, but you never expect 
to see him?” queried Quimby, with great earnest- 
ness. 

“In all probability we never shall meet. I think 
I should be dreadfully embarrassed if we should,” 
Nattie replied, as she handed the day’s cash to the 
boy who just then came after it. “Face to face we 
would really be strangers to each other.” 

Quimby evinced more satisfaction at this than 
the occasion seemed to warrant, as Nattie noticed, 
with some surprise, but several customers claiming 
her attention, all at once, and all in a hurry, she was 
kept too busy for some time, to think upon, the 
cause. | 

As soon as she was at leisure, Miss Archer, with 


Visible and Invisible Friends. 61 





the remark that they had made an unpardonably 
long call, arose to go. 

“But you must certainly come again,” Nattie 
said, cordially, already feeling her to be an old 
friend. ) | 

“Indeed I shall,” she answered, in the genial 
way peculiar to her. “You have a double attraction 
here, you know. Can I say good-by to ‘C?” 

“] fear not, as the wire is busy,” replied Nattie. 
“ But I will say it for you as soon as possible.” 

“Yes, tell him, please, that I will see him—I 
mean, hear the clatter he makes—again soon. You, 
I shall see at the hotel, I hope, now we have met.” 

“Oh, yes!” Nattie replied. “I am very much 
indebted to Quimby for making us acquainted.” 

“Oh! really now, do you mean it?” exclaimed 
Quimby, with sudden delight. “I am so glad I’ve 
done something right at last, you know! Always 
doing something wrong, you know !” then hugging 
his hat to his breast, and speaking in a confidential 
whisper, he added, to the great amusement of the 
two girls, “I have a presentiment—a horrible pre- 
sentiment—I’m always making mistakes, you see. 
I’m used to it, but I couldn't get used to shat, you 
know—that some day I shall marry the wrong - 
woman !” 


So saying, and with a last glance of implacable 


62 Visible and Invisible Friends. 


dislike at the sounder, Quimby bowed awkwardly, 
and departed with the laughing Miss Archer. 

Soon after their departure, “C”’ asked, 

“Has Black-Eyed Susan gone ?” 

“Yes,” responded Nattie. “She left a good-by 
for you, and means to improve your acquaintance.” 

“Thrice happy I! But about this he? Who is 
this he? I want to know all about him. Is he a 
hated rival ?” | 

“Ha! I never heard him say so, but I will ask 
him if you wish. He lives in the same building © 
with me, and brought Miss Archer, a fellow- -lodger, 
down to introduce her.” 

“Do you ever go to balls, concerts, theaters, or 
to ride with him?’ asked “C,” who seemed deter- 
mined to make a thorough investigation of matters. 

“Dear me! No! He never asked me!” 

“Do you wish he would ?” persisted “ C.” 

“Of course I do!” replied Nattie, somewhat 
regardless of truth. 

“It is my opinion I shall be obliged to come and 
look after you,” “C” replied, at this admission. 

“But you wouldn’t know whether you were 
looking after the right person or not, when you 
were here!” Nattie said, with a smiling face and — 
sparkling eyes turned in the direction of an urchin, 

flattening his nose against her window-glass, who 


Visible and Invisible Friends. 63 


immediately fled, overwhelmed with astonishment, 
at being, as he supposed, so smiled upon. 

“And why wouldn't I?” questioned “C.” 

“Because I should recognize you immediately, 
and should pretend it was not I, but some substi- 
tute,’”’ replied Nattie. 

“You seem to be very positive about recognizing 
me. Is your intuitive bump so well-developed as 
all that ?” asked ‘“ C.” 

“Yes,” Nattie responded. “And then you know 
there would be a twinkle in your eye that would 
betray you at once.” 

“Indeed! We will see about that, young lady. 
But now, as acustomer has been drumming on my 
shelf for the past five minutes, in a -frantic endeavor 
to attract my attention, and has by this time worked 
himself into a fine irascible temper, because I will 
not even glance at him, I must bid you good-night, 
with the advice, watch for that ¢wenkle, and be sure 
you discover it !”’ 


64 Neighborly Calls. 


CHAPTER IV. 
NEIGHBORLY CALLS. 


fN the opinion of Miss Betsey Kling, a lone 
young woman, who possessed three large 
trunks, a more than average share of good 





looks, and who went out and came in at irregular 
and unheard-of hours, was a person to be looked 
after and inquired about; accordingly, while Miss 
Archer was making the acquaintance of Nattie, and 
of the invisible “C,” Miss Kling descended upon 
Mrs. Simonson, with the object of dragging from 
that lady all possible information she might be pos- 
sessed of, regarding her latest lodger. As a result, 
Miss Kling learned that Miss Archer was studying ~ 
to become an opera singer, that she occasionally 
now sang at concerts, meeting with encouraging 
success, and further, that she possessed the best of 
references. But Miss Kling gave a sniffle of distrust. 

“Public characters are not to be trusted. Do 
you remember,” she asked solemnly, “do you 
remember the young man you: once had here, who 
ran away with your teaspoons and your tooth- 
brush ?” 


Ah, yes! Mrs. Simonson remembered him 


Neighborly Calls. 65 








perfectly. Was she likely to forget him? But he, 
Mrs. Simonson respectfully submitted, was not a 
singer, but a commercial traveler. 

Miss Kling shook her head. 

“That experience should be a warning! You 
cannot deny that no young woman of a modest and 
retiring disposition would seek to place herself in a 
public position. Can you imagine me upon the 
stage ?”’ concluded Miss Kling with great dignity. 

Mrs. Simonson was free to admit that her imagi- 
nation could contemplate no such possibility, and 
then, neither desirous of criticising. a good paying 
lodger, or of offending Miss Kling—that struggle 
with the ways and means having taught her to 
offend no one if it could possibly be avoided—she 
changed.the subject by expatiating at length upon a 
topic she always found safe—the weather. But Miss 
Celeste Fishblate coming in, Miss Kling left the 
weather to take care of itself, and returned to the 
more interesting discussion, to her, of Miss Archer. 

Celeste, a young lady favored with a counte- 
nance that impressed the beholder as being princi- 
pally nose and teeth, and possessing a large share of 
the commodity known as gush, was ready enough 
to be the recipient of her neighbor’s collection of 
gossip. But, to Miss Kling’s no small disgust, she 
was rather lukewarm in pre-judging the new-comer. 
5 


66 : Neighborly Calls. 


In truth, although somewhat alarmed at the “three 
trunks,” lest she should be out-dressed, she was 
already debating within herself whether Miss 
Archer, as a medium by which more frequent access 
to Mrs. Simonson’s gentlemen lodgers could be 
obtained, was not a person whose acquaintance it 
was desirable to cultivate. Moreover, the words 
opera. singer raised ecstatic visions of a possible 
future introduction to some ‘ravishing tenor,” the 
remote idea of which caused her to be so visibly pre- 
occupied, that Miss Kling took her leave with angry 
sniffles, and returned home to ponder over what 
she had heard. 

A few days after, Nattie, who had quite para- 
lyzed Miss Kling by refusing to listen to what she 
boldly termed unfounded gossip about her new 
friend, went to spend an evening with her. 

Miss Archer occupied a suite of rooms, consisting 
of a parlor and a very small bed-room that had been 
Mrs. Simonson’s own, but which on account of the 
“ways and means”’ she had given up now, confining 
herself exclusively to the kitchen, fitted up to look 
as much like a parlor as a kitchen could. 

“And how is ‘C’?” asked Miss Archer as she 
warmly welcomed her visitor. | 

“Still as agreeable as ever,’ Nattie replied. “I 
told him I was coming to see you this evening, and 


= 


Neighborly Calls. - 67 





he sent his regards, and wished he could be of the 
party.” : 

“T wish he might. But that would spoil the 
mystery,” rejoined Miss Archer. “Do you know 
what the ‘C’ is for ?” 

“Clem,” he says. His other name I don’t know. 
He would give me some outlandish cognomen if I 
should ask. But it isn’t of much consequence.” 

“Tt might be if you should really fall in love 
with him,” laughed Miss Archer. 

“Fall in love! over the wire! That is absurd, 
especially as I am not susceptible,” Nattie answered, 
coloring a trifle, however, as she remembered how 
utterly disconsolate she had been all that morning, 
because a “cross”’ on the wire had for several hours 
cut off communication between her office and “Xn,” 

“You think it would be too romantic for real 
life? Doubtless you are right. And the funny inci- 
dents—have you anything new in your note-book ?” 

“Only that a man to-day, who had perhaps just 
dined, wanted to know the tariff to the U—nited 
St—at—ates,” answered Nattie, glancing at some 
autumn leaves tastefully arranged on the walls and 
curtains. “But ‘C’ was telling me about a mistake 
that was lately made—not by him, he vehemently 


asserts, although I am inclined to think it was; the ~ . 


message as originally:sent was, ‘John is dead, be at 


68 . Neighborly Calls. 


home at three,’ when it was delivered it read, ‘John- 
is dead deat, home at three.’ ”’ . 

“Flow was that possible?’ asked Miss Archer, 
laughing, 

“‘T suppose the sending operator did not leave 
space enough between the words ; we leave a small 
space between letters, and a longer one between 
words,” explained Nattie. 

“The operator who received it must have .been 
rather stupid not to have seen the mistake,” Miss 
Archer said. “I have too good am opinion of your 
‘C’ to believe it was he. But every profession 
has its comic side as well as its tricks, I suppose ; 
mine, I am sure, does. But 1am learning something 
every day, and I am determined,” energetically, “to 
fight my way up!” 

Stirred by Miss Archer’s earnestness, there came 
to Nattie an uneasy consciousness that she herself 
was making no progress towards her only dreamed 
of ambition, and a shade crossed her face ; but with- 
out observing it, Miss Archer continued, 

“T always had a passion for the lyric stage, and 
now there is nothing to prevent—” did a slight 
shadow here darken also her sunny eyes, gone in- 
stantly ?>—“I shall make music my life’s aim. For- 
tunately I have money of my own to enable me to 
study, and——”’ 


Neighborly Calls. 69 


Miss Archer’s speech was here interrupted in a 
somewhat startling manner, by the door suddenly 
flying open, banging against the piano with a pro- 
digious crash, and disclosing Quimby, red and 
abashed, outside. 

Nattie jumped, Miss Archer gave a little scream, 
and the Duchess, Mrs. Simonson’s handsome tor- 
toise-shell cat, so named from her extreme dignity, 
who lay at full length upon a rug, drew herself up 
in haughty displeasure. 

“I—I beg pardon, I am sure!” stammered the 
more agitated intruder. ‘ Really, I—I am so 
ashamed I—I can hardly speak! I was unfortunate 
enough to stumble—I’m used to it, you know,—and 
I give you my word of honor I never saw such a— 
such an extremely lively door !” 

“It is of no consequence,” Miss Archer assured 
him. “ Will you come in?” 

“Thank you, I—I fear I intrude,” answered 
Quimby, clutching’ his watch-chain, and glancing 
at Nattie, guiltily conscious of the strong desire to 
do so that had taken possession of him since the 
sound of her voice had penetrated to his apartment, 
and in perfect agony lest she should surmise it. 
However, upon Miss Archer’s assuring him that 
they would be very glad of his company, he ven- 
tured to enter. But the door still weighed upon 


70 Neighborly Calls. 


his mind, for after carefully closing it, he stood and 
stared at it with a very perplexed face. 

“Never saw such a lively door, you know !” he 
repeated, finally sitting down on the piano-stool, 
and folding both arms across one knee, letting a 
hand droop.dismally on either side, while he looked 
_ alternately at Miss Archer, Nattie, and the part of the 
room mentioned, at which the former laughed, and 
then, with the kind intention of drawing his mind 
from the subject of his forced appearance, suggested 
a game of cards. 

“Then we shall have to have one more person, 
shall we not?” Nattie asked, at this proposition. 

“Tt would be better,” replied Miss Archer. “Let 
me see—Mrs. Simonson does not play 5 

“Mr. Norton does!” interrupted Quimby, for- 
getting the door, in his eagerness to be of service. 
“I—I would willingly ask him to join us, if you 
will allow me!” 





“That queer young artist who lodges here, you 
mean ?” inquired Miss Archer. 

“Oh! But he is a dreadful Bohemian!” com- 
mented Nattie, distrustfully, before Quimby could 
reply. 

“Ts he?” laughed Miss Archer. “Then ask him 
in by all means! I am something of a Bohemian 
myself, and shall be delighted to meet a kindred 


Neighborly Calls. 71 


soul! I do not knowas I have ever observed the 
gentleman particularly, but if I remember rightly, 
he wears his hair very closely cropped, and is not a 
model of beauty ?” 

“But he is just as nice a fellow asif he was hand- 
some outside!” said Quimby earnestly, doubtless 
aware of his own shortcomings in the Adonis line. 
“Ffe is a little queer to be sure, doesn’t believe in 
love or sentiment or anything of that sort, you 
know, and he says he wears his hair cropped close 
because people have a general idea that artists are 
‘long-haired, lackadaisical fellows,—not to say un- 
tidy, you know,—and he is determined that no one 
shall be able to say it of him !” 

Miss Archer was much amused at this description. 

“He certainly is an odd genius, and decidedly 
worth knowing. Bring him in, I beg of you,” she 
said. 

But Quimby hesitated and glanced at Nattie. 

“He is not very unconventional, I—I do not 
think he will shock you very much if you do not get 
~ him at it, you know !” he said to her apologetically. 

“Oh! I am not at all alarmed!” said Naittie, 
adding, as her thoughts reverted to Miss Kling, “T_ 
think, after all, a Bohemian is better than a perfect 
model of conventionalism !” . 

Miss Archer heartily indorsed this sentiment, 


72 ° Neighborly Calls. 


and Quimby went in quest of Mr. Norton, with 
whom he soon returned. 

Unlike enough to the melancholy artist of 
romantic fame was Mr. Norton. Short, rather stout, 
inclined to be red in the face, large-nosed, scrupu- 
-lously neat in dress, clean shaven, and closely- 
cropped hair—all this the observing Miss Archer 
saw at a glance as she bowed to him in response to 
Quimby’s introduction. But the second glance 
showed her that the expression of his face was so 
jovial that its plainness vanished as if by magic on 
his first smile. 

If Nattie, possibly a trifle prejudiced in his dis- 
favor, expected him to outrage common propriety in 
some way, such as keeping on his hat, smoking a 
black pipe, or turning up his pantaloons leg, she 
was utterly—shall we say disappointed? Truth to 
tell, before ten minutes had elapsed from the time of 
his arrival, she was wishing she knew more “ Bohe- 
mians,’’ and even hoping “C”’ was one! 

At home as soon as he entered the room, in a 
very short time the strangers of a moment ago were 
his life-long friends. Full of anecdotes and quaint 
remarks, he was the life of the little party. Miss 
Archer, however, was a very able backer—Cyn, as 
they all found themselves calling her soon after 
Jo Norton’s advent, and forevermore. 


Neighborly Calls. 73 





“Cyn was,” as its owner said, “short” for the 
samewhat lofty name of Cynthia. 

- Doubtless, the fact of these two, who were part- 
ners, beating nearly every game they played, was 
not without its effect in promoting their most genial 
feelings. A result brought about, not so much by 
their skill, as by Quimby’s perpetually forgetting | 
what was trumps, confounding the right and left 
bowers, and disregarding the power of the joker. 

And in truth Quimby’s mind was more on his 
partner than on the game, and he was becoming 
more and more awake to the fact that his heart was 
fast filling with admiration and adoration of which 
she was the object, and inevitably must soon over- 
flow! For Nattie was really looking her very best 
this evening. It was excitement and animation that 
her face depended upon for its beauty. Miss 
Archer’s companionship, too, was doing much 
towards promoting the cheerfulness that brought 
so clear a light to her eyes—the light that was now 
dazzling Quimby. For Cyn was one of those 
people who live always in the sunshine, and seem 
to carry its own brightness around with them, while 
Nattie, on the contrary, oftentimes dwelt among the 
shadows, and a touch of their somberness hung over 
her, and showed itself upon her face. : 


But none of these lurking shadows were there 


74 - Neighborly Calls. 


to-night, and as a consequence, Quimby was 
unable to keep his eyes off her, and sighed, and 
made misdeals, and became generally mixed. His 
embarrassment was not lessened when Cyn mis- 
chievously informed him he had certainly found 
favor in the eyes of Miss Fishblate—who had 
called upon her the day before. He dropped the 
pack of cards he happened to have in his hand 
at the moment, all over the floor, and then dived so 
hastily to pick them up that his head came in vio- 
lent contact with the edge of the table, and fora 
moment he was almost stunned. 

But in answer to Cyn’s anxious inquiry if he was 
hurt, he replied, . 

“It’s nothing! I—I am used to it, you know!” 
Notwithstanding which assertion his forehead de- 
veloped such a sudden and terrific bump of benev- 
olence, that Cyn insisted upon binding her hand- 
kerchief over it. Thus, with his head tied up, 
and secretly lamenting the unornamental figure he 
now presented to the eyes of his partner and 
charmer, Quimby resumed the game. But what 
with this cause of uneasiness, and a latent fear that 
Cyn’s jesting remark about Celeste might be true, 
a fear he had privately been conscious of previously, 
although the least conceited of mortals, Quimby 
played so badly—and indeed would undoubtedly 


Neighborly Calls. Bee 





have answered “checkers,” had he been asked sud- 
denly what game he was playing, on account of his 
meditations on a checkered existence—that the cards 
were soon abandoned, and Cyn delighted them with 
several songs, and a recitation of “ Lady Clara Vere 
de Vere.” 

While Cyn was singing, Nattie happened to 
glance at Mr. Norton, and suddenly remembering 
a sentence in a lately-read novel about some one 
looking with “his soul in his eyes,” wondered if 
that was not exactly what Mr. Norton was doing 
now? She did not notice, however, that if was 
certainly what Quimby was trying not to do! She 
wondered too, if the young artist was paying Cyn 
some private compliments, for they seemed to be 
talking together apart, as all were bidding each 
other good-night. If so, she could not understand 
why Cyn should look so mischievous over it. It 
was but a momentary thought, however, forgotten 
as they all mutually agreed that the pleasant evening 
just passed should be but the beginning of many. 
The circumstance was recalled to her mind, however, 
and explained the next day, for on returning from 
the office she found under her door a pen and ink 
sketch, of which she knew at once Cyn was the 
designer, and Mr. Norton the executor. It repre- 
‘sented two rooms, one on each side of a partition ; 


76 Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 





in one was a table, containing the ordinary tele- 
graphic apparatus, before which ‘sat a young lady 
strangely resembling Miss Nattie Rogers, with her 
face beaming with smiles, and her hand grasping the 
key. In the other, a young man with a very battered 
hat knelt before the sounder on his table, while 
behind him an urchin with a message in his hand 
stared unnoticed, open-mouthed and unheard; far 
above was Cupid, connecting the wires that ran 
from the gentleman to the lady. 

“What nonsense!” murmured Nattie, laughing 
to herself; but she put the picture away in her 
writing desk as carefully as she might some cher- 
ished memento. 


e 





CHAPTER V. 
QUIMBY BURSTS FORTH IN ELOQUENCE. 


»Y HAT young lady over there acts very 
‘ strangely. She is not crazy, is she?’ in- 





| quired a gentleman who stood leaning 

against the counter over the way, and looking 
across at Nattie. | 

“TI don’t Know what to make of her,” the pre- 


Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. Yee 





viously mentioned clerk, to whom this question was 
addressed, answered, “I have been observing her 
for some weeks; she sits half the time as you see her 
now, laughing to herself and gesticulating. Some- 
times she will lean back in her chair and absolutely 
shake with laughter, and she smiles at vacancy con- 
tinually. She seems all right enough with the ex- 
ception of these vagaries. But she is a_ perfect 
conundrum to me.” 

“A bit luny, I think,” said the gentleman, who 
had asked the question. 

Just then, Nattie, who, of course, was talking to 
“C,” and telling him about that sketch—with the 
slight reservation of the Cupid,—happened to look 
up, with her gaze seventy miles away ; but becom- 
ing aware of the curious stares of the two gentle- 
men opposite, her vision shortened itself to near 
objects, and rightly surmising from their looks the 
tenor of their thoughts, she colored, and straight- . 
way turned her back, at the same time informing 
“C” of what she termed their impertinence. But 
“C” answered, with a laugh, 

“Tt cannot but look strange, you know, to out- 
siders, to see a person making such an ado appa- 
rently over nothing. Put yourself, if you can, in 
the place of the uninitiated ; you come along, see an 
operator quietly seated, reading the newspaper, with’ 


78 Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 


his feet elevated on a chair or table, the picture of 
repose. Suddenly up he jumps, down ‘goes the 
paper, he seizes a pencil, hurriedly writes a few 
words, frowns violently, pounds frantically on the 
table, stares savagely at nothing, bursts suddenly 
into a broad smile, and then quietly resumes his 
first position. Wouldn’t these seem like rather 
eccentric gambols to you, if you didn’t know their 
solution ?” 

“Ha! Doubtless,” answered Nattie. “So I 
suppose I must forgive my observers, and be more 
careful what I do in future. I have no doubt I 
often make myself ridiculous to chance beholders, 
when I am talking with you.” 

“J wonder if that is complimentary to me?’ 
queried “C.” 

“ Certainly, as it is because you make me laugh 
so much,” Nattie replied. 

“Then I am not such a disagred&ble fellow as I 
might be?” demanded “C,” evidently attempting to 
extort flattery. | | 

But before Nattie could answer, some one else 
opened their key, and said, 

* Oh, yes you are!” 

“That was not me,” Nattie explained, as quickly 
as possible. ‘Some of those unpleasant people 
that can’t mind their own business. I was about to 


Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 79 


say I should not know how to get through the days 
now, if I hadn’t you to talk with.” 

“Do you really mean it?” questioned /““C,” 
delightedly, it is reasonable to suppose. » “ Truly, 
I was thinking only last night how unbearable 
would have been the solitude of my office, had I not 
been blessed with your company. I was lonesome 
enough before I knew you, but I never am now.” 

It was a pity that no telegraphic instrument had 
yet been invented that could carry the blush on Nat- 
tie’s cheeks for his eyes to see, because it was so very 
becoming. She commenced a reply, expressing her 
pleasure, but was unable to finish it, on account of 
that unknown and disagreeable operator somewhere 
on the line, who kept breaking the circuit after every 
letter she made. Nor was “C” allowed to write 
anything either. This was a trick by which they 
had often been annoyed of late. 

For, on the wire in the telegraphic world, as well 
as elsewhere, are idle, mischief-making people, who 
cannot endure to see others enjoying themselves, if 
they also have no share. 

Thus, unable to talk farther at present with her 
indefatigable conversationalist, Nattie took up a 
pencil and began entering the day’s business in her 
books, when a shadow darkened the doorway, and 
she looked up to see Quimby. 


80 Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 


Since the evening of the card party, when he had 
become so fully conscious of the condition of things 
inside his heart, Quimby had been in a really pitia- 
ble state of unrest. Too bashful, or too deficient in 
self-confidence to seek the society of her who was 
the cause of all his uneasiness, as his inclinations 
directed, and not knowing how to make himself as 
charming to her as she was to him, he wandered 
past the building containing her, two or three times 
a day, sometimes receiving the pleasure of a bow as 
he passed her window, but never before to-day 
being able to raise the necessary courage to go in 
and speak. 

Nattie, who could not but begin to surmise 
something of the state of his feelings, but without 
dreaming of their intensity, now smiled on him, 
and asked him inside the office. No man or woman 
can be quite indifferent to one, whom they know 
has set them on a pedestal, apart from the rest of 
the world. | 

“J—really I[—I beg pardon, I’m sure,” the 
agitated Quimby, trembling at his own daring, . 
Besponded to her invitation. “I—I was passing 
—dquite accidentally, you know,—thought I would 
just step in, you know. Really, I—I must ask 
pardon for the liberty.” 

“We are too old acquaintances now for you to 


A 


Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 81 


consider it a liberty,’ Nattie replied, and the words 
made his perturbed heart jump with joy. “ Business 
being quite dull to-day, I shall be glad to be enter- 
tained. Of course,” archly, “ you came to entertain, 
me?” . 

Poor Quimby was decidedly taken aback by this 
question. 

“‘{—I—yes certainly—no—that is—I mean I am 
afraid I am not much of an entertainer,’ he stam- 
mered, his hands flying to his necktie and nervously 
untying it as he spoke. Certainly, the wear and tear 
on his neckties and watch chain while he was in his 
present condition of love must have been terrific. 

“ Aren’t you?” queried Nattie without gainsaying 
his assertion. 

“ No—really you know I—I’m always making 
mistakes—but I’m used to it, you know—and I am 
not—possibly I might be a trifle better than no- 
body—but that’s all.” 

And having given this honest, and certainly not 
conceited opinion of himself, he entered the office, 
sat down, and proceeded to make compasses of his 
legs. ’ 
“Have you seen Cyn to-day? she paid me a 
flying visit yesterday, and talked a little to ‘C,’ but I - 
haven’t seen her since.” 

“ She went away to sing out of town, let me see—I 

6 


82 Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 

forget where, and she will not return until to-mor- 
row ;’ then, uneasily, ““I—I beg pardon, but you—you 
mentioned the Invisible. Do you—I beg pardon— 
but do you converse as much as ever with him ?” 

“Yes indeed !” Nattie replied with an ardor that 
did not produce exactly an enlivening effect upon 
her caller; “ we talk together nearly all the time.” 

“ What—I beg pardon—but really—what do you 
find to talk about so much ?” he inquired jealously. 

“Oh, everything ! of the books we read, and the 
good things in the magazines and papers, and the 
adventures we have—telegraphically ; in short, of all 
the topics of the day. We agree very well too, 
except on candy, that I like and he doesn't,” re- 
plied Nattie. 

Quimby suppressed a groan, and hastened to 
assure her that he himself possessed a great passion 
for sweetmeets. 

“But don’t you—I beg pardon—but don’t you 
find this sort of thing—‘C,’ I mean—ghostly, you 
know ?” 

“ Ghostly !” echoed the astonished Nattie. 

“Yes,” he replied, with a gesture of his arm that 
produced an impression as if that member had 
leaped out of its socket. “Yes, talking with the 

unseen, you know; I—I beg pardon, but it strikes 
me as ghostly.” 





Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 83 


Nattie stared. / 

“What a strange fancy!” she exclaimed. “C? 
is very real, and of the earth, earthy to me, I assure 
you !” 

~Quimby’s face lengthened some three inches. 
“Ts he?” he said ruefully. ‘“I—I beg pardon, but 
you haven’t—you don’t mean to say that—you have 
not taken a—bless my soul! how warm it is here!” 
and he mopped his face with a red silk handker- 
chief—a color very unbecoming to his complexion. 

“Warm !” repeated Nattie, her lips curving in an 
amused smile, for she had a shawl over her 
shoulders, and was nevertheless slightly chilly. “I 
don’t perceive it, I am sure.” 

“I—I beg pardon—but I’ve been walking, you 
know,” Quimby said nervously. “But I—I was 
about to ask—I—I beg pardon—but you have not— 
not” desperately, “really fallen in love with him, 
have you?” ; 

Nattie’s eyes danced with amusement, but her 
color deepened slightly too, as she replied, 

“How could one fall in love with an invisible? 
why, that would be even less satisfactory than an 
ideal !” 

Quimby’s face brightened, and he recovered 
himself sufficiently to put away the red silk hand- 
kerchief. — 


84. Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 


‘“T don’t think—really, I should not think there 
could. be much satisfaction in it !” then stealing a 
bashful but adoring glance at her, he added, 

“J—I prefer a—a visible, as being something 
more substantial, you know!” 

“Indeed ?” said Nattie, demurely ; then thinking 
perhaps he was drifting on to greunds that had best 
be avoided, she changed the subject, by saying, 

“Do you not think Cyn a very charming young 
lady ?” 

“Oh, yes! I—I—yes, very charming!” Quimby 
answered, but not so enthusiastically as perhaps 
Mr. Norton might have done. For Quimby’s heart 
was of the old-fashioned kind, and his fancy was 
not fickle; besides, being now, in a measure, 
launched upon the subject, of love, so awful to 
approach, he was unwilling thus soon to leave a 
theme so sweet, yet so formidable. Therefore, 
crossing his legs, and bracing up against the chair- 
back, he determined, now or never, to give her an 
inkling of his feelings, an intention so very palpa- 
ble, that Nattie was glad indeed to hear from the 
sounder, 

“B m—B m—B m—.” 

; ‘ixcuse..me,(nsheccsaid;chastily. ““Theyware 
calling me on the wire,” and immediately answered, 
and began taking a message. 


ed 


Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 85 


Meanwhile, to him had come a reaction, and he 
was in a state of total collapse. Before she had 
finished receiving that message of only ten words, 
he had drawn himself dejectedly to his feet, and 
' was looking for his hat. 

“I—I really—I must go, you know!” he fal- 
tered, blushing, as Nattie glanced up at him. “I— 
I fear I have intruded now—but I—I—” he stopped 
short, unable to find an ending to his sentence. 

“T’m always glad of company,” Nattie said, but 
a little distantly, as she gave “QO. K.” on the wire. 

“‘J—I—really, you are very kind, you know,” 
stammered Quimby. “I—I pass here on the way 
to dinner, you see—from the office, you know,’’—he 
eked out his meagre income by writing in a law- 
yer’s ofiice—“ where, ‘pon my word, I ought to have 
been now. But it’s—it’s such a pleasure to see 
you—you know that—where can my hat be?” 

All this time he had been looking around for 
his hat, and now Nattie fished it out of the waste 
basket, into which he had unwittingly dropped it. 
Taking it with many apologies, he bowed himself 
confusedly and ungracefully out, and went away, 
wondering if he would ever be able to get himself 
up to such a pitch again, and resolving, if it proved 
possible, that it should not occur next time where 


there was one of those aggravating “ sounders,” 


86 Quimby Bursts Forth in Lloguence. 


“Now, I hope,” thought Nattie, as she watched 
his retreating form, “that he is not going to make 
an idiot of himself! Not only because he is as 
good a fellow as he is a blundering one, and I 
wouldn’t for the world hurt his feelings, but also 
because it would be dreadfully uncomfortable to 
have a rejected lover wandering around in the same 
house with one !” 

And Nattie, judging from his late conduct that 
the contingency referred to was likely to occur, 
resolved to be careful and not give him any oppor- 
tunity to express his feelings, and: furthermore, 
to kindly and cautiously teach him the meaning of 
the word Friendship, and particularly to define 
the broad distinction between that and Love. 

But circumstances are mulish things, and not to 
be governed at will, as Nattie was soon to discover. 

A few evenings after she called in to see 
Cyn, who happened to be out. But she was mo- 
mentarily expected to return, as Mrs. Simonson 
said, so Nattie concluded to wait, and sat down at 
the piano. Not noticing she had left the door 
partly open, and never dreaming of approaching 
danger, she began to play, when suddenly, the hesi- 
tating voice of Quimby broke in upon the strains of 
the ‘First Kiss” waltz. 

“T—may I come in?” he asked. “I—I beg 


Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 87 


your pardon, but I knocked several times, you 
know, and you didn’t hear at all.” 

Nattie would gladly have refused the invita- 
tion he asked, but could think of no possible 
excuse for so doing, and was therefore compelled 
to say, } 

“Yes—come in, I expect Cyn every moment.” 

Availing himself of this permission, Quimby 
entered, balanced his hat on the edge of an album, 
and seating himself in a chair, seized a round on 
either side as if he was in danger of blowing away, 
and stared at her without a word. 

“Tt has been a lovely day, hasn’t it?” Nattie 
said at last, beginning to find the silence embar- 
rassing, and reverting to Mrs. Simonson’s safe 
topic. 

““Yes—exactly so !”” Quimby answered, strength- 
ening his grasp on the chair in a vain endeavor to 
summon the requisite courage to avail himself of 
this rare opportunity of pouring out his feelings. 

Nattie tried him again on another safe topic. 

“Cyn and I dined together to-day.” 

“T—J] can’t eat!’ burst forth Quimby in accents 
of despair. | 

“Can’t you?” said Nattie, devoutly wishing Cyn 
would come,’ “I am very sorry, I hope you are not 
dyspeptic.” } 


88 Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 


“No, no!” he answered,-his eyes almost starting - 
from his head between his determination to wind 
himself up to the point, and the tightness of his 
grasp on the chair. “It’s—it’s my heart, you 
know !” 

“You don’t mean to say you have heart dis- 
ease?” said Nattie, seeing danger fast approaching, 
and taking refuge in obtusity. 

“No, I—I beg pardon—not a—not a bodily 
heart disease, you know, but a mental one!” and he 
relaxed his grasp on the chair with one hand to tug 
at his necktie as if being hung, and disliking the 
sensation. 

“That is something I never heard of,” Nattie 
said dryly; then thinking, “I’ll drown him in 
music,” she asked hastily, 

“Do you like the First Kiss ?” 

The bounce of an India rubber ball is no. com- 
parison to the agility with which Quimby jumped 
from his chair at this question. 

“Oh! Bless my soul! Wouldn’t I?” he gasped. 

“T will play it to you,’ exclaimed Nattie, 
instantly aware of the indiscretion of her question, 
and she thundered as loud as she could on the 
piano, while Quimby, with a very red face, subsided 
into the chair again. But not long did he remain 
subsided ; whether it was the music that inspired 


Quimby Bursts Forth in Eloquence. 89 


him, or a desperate determination that nerved him, 
he suddenly sprang up, and with one stride was 
beside her, exclaiming excitedly, 

“No! That is—I beg pardon—but please do 
not play any more just now. There is something 
I must say to you! Oh! I can’t express myself! 
It all comes upon me with a rush when I am alone, 
but now, at this supreme moment, I cannot tell you 
how I a——” 

““Excuse me, but I am afraid I cannot remain 
now,” hastily interrupted Nattie, feeling that some- 
thing must be done to stop him, and adopting the 
first expedient that suggested itself. “I just hap- 
pened to recollect I left my gas burning in close 
proximity to the lace curtains, and I must go 
immediately and attend to it.” 

With these words, Nattie rushed away, half 
amused and half annoyed, leaving him to stare 
after her with a blank and rueful face, to ask him- 
self how any fellow could get on amid such draw- 
backs, to decide that proposing was a dreadful 
strain on the nerves, but to resolve his next attempt 
should be a success, if he had to inaugurate previ- 
ously a series of private rehearsals. For although 
abashed and discomfited by his repeated failures 
to make his feelings understood, he was more in 


love than ever. 


(exe) Collapse of the Romance. 





s 


CHAPTER VI. 


COLLAPSE OF THE ROMANCE, 


a M—B m—B m—N—N—N—ORh! where are 
you, N? Where is the little girl at B m— 
B m—B m?” 

Such were the sounds that greeted Nattie’s ears, 
as she entered the office the morning after her 
adventure with the love-lorn Quimby; and imme- 
diately she ceased to speculate on the probable 
embarrassment that must necessarily attend their 
not-to-be-avoided next meeting, and interrupted — 
““C’s” solitary conversation, by saying, 

“What is the matter with you this morning? 
Here I am, N.”’ 

“G. M., my dear. I’m off, and wanted to say 
good-by before I went,” responded “ C.” 

“ Off?” questioned Nattie, with a sudden fall in 
her mental temperature. 

“Yes, I am going to a station five miles below 
to substitute, to-day. The operator there is obliged 
to go away, and couldn’t find any one competent 
to do his work, and as there was a fellow that could 
do mine, he comes here and I go there,” 


Collapse of the Romance. QI 


“Oh, dear! what shall I do all day?” said Nat- 
tie, sinking into a chair, very much aggrieved. 

“JT am very sorry, but I couldn’t well avoid 
accommodating him. But what will you do when I 
leave entirely, if you can’t get along without me 
one day? happy I, to be so necessary to your exist- 
ence !” 

“But there is no prospect of your leaving at 
‘present, is there?” asked Nattie, forgetting in her 
alarm at such a possibility to challenge the last of 
his remark. 

“There is some probability of it now,’ “C” 
responded. “I will tell you all about it to-morrow. 
I may come nearer to you; near enough even for 
you to see that twinkle.” 

“You don’t mean you have a prospect of an 
office here in the city?” questioned Nattie, not 
knowing whether she would be glad or sorry if 
such were the case. 

“Not exactly,” replied “C.” I haven’t time to 


9 





explain ; train is coming, so 

“Where did you say you were going to-day ?” 
broke in Nattie quickly. 

““B a—five miles down the line nearer you, but 
not on this wire. Used to be, you know, but 
switched on wire number twenty-seven last week,” 
_“C” responded so hurriedly, that Nattie could 


92 Collapse of the Romance. 


hardly réad it, although so accustomed to his style 
of making his dots and dashes ; for, with the key, as 
with the pen, all operators have their own peculiar 
manner of writing. 

“Ah, yes! I remember,” responded Nattie 
quickly. ‘That hateful operator signing ‘M’ 
had it, that used to be fighting for the circuit 
always, and breaking in when we were talking. 
I wouldn’t have gone for him.” 

“ Couldn’t well avoid it. Here is train. Good- 
by; shall miss you terribly, but will be with you 
again to-morrow. Good-by.” 

““Good-by. I am lonesome already,” Nattie 
answered. 

As “C’* made no reply, it was supposable he had 
gone, and probably had to run for the train, thought 
Nattie, as she took off her hat rather dejectedly. 

A broken companionship of any kind must ever 
leave a certain sense of loneliness, and this was 
none the less true now on account of the unique 
circumstances. Indeed, until to-day she had not 
fully realized how necessary “‘C ” had become to her 
telegraphic life. Naturally, she had woven a sort of | 
romance about him who was a friend ‘‘so near and 
yet so far.” Perhaps too, a certain yearning for 
tenderness in her lonely heart, a feeling that every 
woman knows, found something, very pleasant 


Collapse of the Romance. 93 


in being always greeted with “Good morning, my 
dear,” and hearing the last thing at night, “Good 
night, little girl at B m.”’ 

Miss Kling undoubtedly would have been 
shocked at being thus addressed even on the 
wire, by a strange person—a person certainly, 
although unseen ; but Nattie, used to the license 
that distance gave, whether wisely or unwisely, 
had never thought it necessary to check the famil- 
larity. ‘ 

Pondering over what he had hinted about 
leaving permanently, in the leisure usually devoted © 
to chatting with him, but which that day she 
hardly knew how to fill, Nattie wondered if, 
should they ever come face to face, they would 
feel like the old friends they were, or if the 
nearness would bring a constraint now unknown? 
Yet she was fain to confess she would like to see 
him and ascertain the personal appearance of one 
who occupied so much of her thoughts. But how 
strange it would be, if, after all their friendly talks 
and gay confidences, he should pass out of the way 
that was both their ways now, and they never 
know anything more about each other than that 
one was “C” and one was “N !” something not 
impossible either, or even improbable; for fate is a 
sort of switch-board, and a slight move will switch 


94 Collapse of the Romance. 


two lives onto wires far asunder, even as the mov- 
ing of a peg or two will alter everything on the 
board that shows its power so little. 

With such thoughts in her mind, Nattie was 
rather among the shadows that day, and presented 
no laughing face to the curious passers-by, much to 
that opposite clerk’s relief, who came to the con- 
clusion that she had once more recovered her senses. 

About an hour before the time for closing the 
office, as she was counting over her cash, and 
thinking how glad she was that “C” would be 
back to-morrow, she became conscious of some one 
waiting her attention outside, and went forward, 
scarcely looking at him, expecting, of course, a 
message. But instead, the individual, who filled 
the air with a suffocating odor of musk, asked, 

“You are the regular operator here, I suppose?” 

With a start Nattie looked up, expecting a com- 
plaint, an occurrence. often prefaced by some like 
question, and scrutinizing him more particularly, 
saw a short, rather stout young man, possessing 
an air of cheap assurance, hair that insisted 
on being red, notwithstanding the bear’s grease 
that covered it, teeth all at variance with each 
other, and seeming to rejoice obtrusively in the 
fact, and light blue eyes of a most insinuating 
expression, trimmed around with red. 


Collapse of the Romance. 7 95 


“Yes,” Nattie replied as she took this survey. 
“T am.” 

“ You don’t know me, I suppose ?” was the next 
question. 

“No,” Nattie replied with a glance at the large 
mock diamond pin, and immense imitation ame- 
thyst ring he wore ; “I certainly do not.” 

“T think you are mistaken about that,” he re- 
joined, smiling at her in a most unpleasantly 
familiar manner. 

Surprised and offended, Nattie drew back haugh- 
tily. “I think, rather, you are mistaken,” she said, 
stiffly. “May I inquire your business?” 

With an air of easy confidence and familiar 
remonstrance, he replied, 

“Come, now, don’t freeze a fellow; why, I came 
to see you. That’s my business and no other!” 

“He is drunk,” thought Nattie, indignantly, but 
before she could reply he added, | 

“T am an operator, you see.” 

“Oh!” said Nattie, comprehensively, but not at 
all delightedly, for operator or no operator, and not- 
withstanding the ‘sort of freemasonry between those 
of the craft, she preferred his room to his company. 
But constraining herself, she added as civilly as 
possible, “ Did you wish to send a message, or speak 
to any one on the wire?” 


96 Collapse of the Romance. 


“No, thank you,” he answered; then, with an 
insinuating smile, 

“Can’t you guess who I am ?” 

“T really can’t,” Nattie replied, coldly and indif- 
ferently ; thinking, “some of the operators down 
town, I suppose, and a delightful set they are if he 
isa specimen! So impertinent of him!” 

“Can’t you?” laughing and displaying his obtru- 
sive teeth to their utmost advantage. “ Now just 
think of some one you have been buzzing lately, 
and then guess, won’t you, N ?” 

Without the least suspicion Nattie shook her 
head impatiently, feeling very much disgusted, and 
longing for some interruption to occur. But his 
next words were startling. Leaning forward very 
confidentially, he asked with a smile of con- 
sciousness, 

“Do you see that twinkle, N ?” 

“What!” ejaculated Nattie—so forcibly that a 
passing countryman stopped with a peanut half 
cracked, to stare—and clutching at an umbrella 
hanging by her side, for support, she turned a 
horror-stricken face to the quéstioner, who, looking 
as if he expected her to be enraptured, added, 

“You know a fellow that signs ‘C,’ don’t you?” 

The bump of self-conceit must have largely over- 
balanced the perceptive faculties of this obnoxious 


Collapse of the Romance. 97 


young man, if he could possibly mistake the expres- 
sion on Nattie’s face for rapture, as, frantically | 
grasping the umbrella, she gasped, 

“ No—no—it can’t be—you are not—not—’” 

“Not C? Ain't I, though!” laughed the pro- 
prietor of the ring, pin, bear’s-grease, et cetera. 

“But,” said poor Nattie, clinging desperately to 
hope and the umbrella, “C said this morning he 
was going to B a—and——”’ 

“That was a trick to take you by surprise,’ he 
interrupted, with great enjoyment of his own words. 
“T knew I was coming here, all the time, but I 
wanted to give you a nice little surprise. Think I 
have, eh?” and he laughed again, and winked with 
almost vulgar assurance. 

Nattie let go of hope and the umbrella, and 
collapsed with her romance into a chair ; and she 
thought of Quimby’s warning about the ‘soiled 
invisible,” and barely suppressed a groan. Invol- 
untarily she stolea glance at this too-visible person, 
and shuddered. Could she reconcile “C,” her vision- 
ary, interesting, witty and gentlemanly “C” of the 
wire, with this musk-scented being of greasy red hair, 
cheap jewelry and vulgar manners? Impossible! 

“Tt is the nightmare! it cannot be!” she thought, 
_ with the despairing refuge in dreams we often take 
when suddenly overwhelmed with terrible realities. 

7 


98 Collapse of the Romance. 





As she made no reply to his last observation, 
her visitor, glancing at her as if slightly puzzled by 
her behavior, went on— 

“JT did not think you would be so bashful, 
after all our talks. JZ am not,’—a fact hardly nec- 
essary to mention. ‘ We ought to be pretty good 
friends by this time. Say, doI look as you expected 
I would?’ and as if to give her a better view, he 
pushed his hat back on his head, a kindness wholly 
unappreciated, as Nattie had seen more than suffi- 
cient of him already. 

‘“Not—not exactly!” she stammered, in a sort of 
dazed way. 

“T believe you thought I was one of those slim 
fellows whose bones rattle when they walk, didn’t 
you? I am no such a fellow, you see. But you 
ain’t a bitas imagined. MayI bea plug* forever 
if you are!” 

Nattie was too wretched, too unable even yet 
to realize that her “‘C” and this odious creature 
were one and the same, to ask, as he evidently 
expected natural curiosity would induce her to do, 
in what way she so differed from the person of his 
imagination. | | 

“You go beyond all my calculations,” he con- 


* «* Plug” is the common telegraphic expression for an in- 
competent operator. 


Collapse of the Romance. 99 


tinued, flatteringly, after waiting in vain for a ques- 
tion from her; “ Only you are more bashful than I 
supposed you would be, after the dots and dashes 
we have slung. But then it’s easier to buzz on the 
wire than it is to talk, isn’t it? For alla fellow has 
to do is to take up a book or a paper, pick things 
out to say, and go it without exercising his own 
brains !” 

At these words, that explained the previous 
incomprehensible difference between the distant 
“C” and present person, the realization of the 
companionship, the romance, the friendship gone to 
wreck on this reef of musk and bear’s-grease came 
over Nattie with a rush, and for a moment so 
affected her that she could hardly restrain her tears. 
And yet, after all, was not “C,” her “OC,” the 
“C” whom she knew by his conversation only— 
“picked out of books!’’—an unreal, intangible 
being, and not this so different person who claimed 
his identity ? 

“T think we astonished some of them on the 
wire with all the stuff we had over!” went on with 
his monologue the knight of the collapsed 
romance, who, not being troubled with fine sensi- 
bilities, had no idea of the feelings under which 
_ she was laboring. 

“ Yes—I—doubtless!” stammered Nattie, and 


100° Collapse of the Romance. 


turned very red, as, suddenly remembering the 
tenor of some of what he so elegantly termed 
“stuff,” the appalling thought, what if he should 
say ‘“‘my dear?” presented itself in all its horrors, 
and the idea punished her for that girlish impru- 
dence in allowing the familiarity from afar. 

Evidently he noticed the access of color, and 
attributed it to his own fascinations, for he smiled 
complacently as he said, 

“T wish I had longer to stay with you, but my 
train goes in five minutes.” Nattie breathed a sigh 
of relief. .“‘ Too bad, isn't it? But IT will+ come , 
again sometime! By the way,” a cunning expres- 
sion that seemed uncalled-for crossing over his face, 
“don’t say anything on the wire about my being ~ 
here to-day, will you? I don’t want any one to 
know. Let them think I was at B a.” 

“Certainly not!’ replied Nattie, with an 
alacrity born of the knowledge that she should 
hold no further communication of any kind with 
him ; then, in order to give a hint of her intentions, 
she added, bracing herself up to mention what was 
so difficult to speak of to this vampire who mocked 
her with her vanished “C,” 

“Now that the—-the mystery is solved, and I— 
and we have met, I don’t think there will be much 
amusement in talking over the wire.” 


Collapse of the Romance. IO} 


Somewhat to her surprise, and not at all flatter- 
ing to her vanity, he answered, without a remon- 
strance, 

“No! I don’t know as there will !” 

“Perhaps he doesn’t like my looks any better 
than I do his!” was Nattie’s natural and indignant 
thought at this quiet reception of her hint. And 
if anything had been necessary—which it certainly 
was not—to her utter repudiation of him, this 
would have sufficed for the purpose. | 

“You mentioned this morning you thought of 
leaving X n. Do you expect to go soon?” she 
asked, catching at the idea that a few hours ago 
had caused so much alarm, with a hope that he 
might be about to vanish from her world finally 
and forever. But even as she spoke, the difference 
of the now and then smote her like a pain. 

“Did I say that ?’ he said, with a look that she 
could not understand, as if for some secret reason, 
he was so well pleased with himself, he could 
hardly avoid laughing outright. “Oh! well! I 
was only fooling!” 

Nattie’s face fell, but, catching at the oppor- 
tunity to convey the impression that in her 
opinion they had not been very friendly, after all, 
' she said, 


102 Collapse of the Romance. . 
pay ss 

“TI suppose no one really means what they say 
on the wire. Iam sure / do not!” 

“But we mean what we say now,” he replied, 
with an insinuating smile. ‘ Next time I come we 
will be more sociabie. But we have had a nice 
talk, ain’t we?” 

_ For a moment the repulsive person before her 
overcame the remembrance of the lost ‘C,” and 
Nattie replied, sarcastically, 

“J trust the talk has not been too much of an 
exercise for your brain !” 

He looked at her doubtfully, and then laughed. 
“You are sort of a queer girl, ain’t you? I wish 
though, I could stay and buzz you longer, but I 
‘have only time to get my train, so good-by.” 

“Good-by,” said Nattie, betraying all her relief 
at his departure in the sudden animation of her 
voice, something so different from her preceding 
manner that he could but notice it, and he turned, 
looked at her, as if a suspicion of its true cause 
penetrated his mind at last, frowned, and then with 
that former look she did not understand crossing 
his face, nodded and_ran for the depot, coming into 
violent collision with a fat Dutchman, looking per- 
plexedly for a barber’s shop. And thus the red 
hair, the bear’s grease, the sham jewelry, and the 
obtrusive, fighting teeth disappeared forever from 


‘* Good-By.” 103, 


Nattie’s sight, leaving her with a bewildered look 
on her face, as if, indeed, just awakened from that 
imagined nightmare. 

She looked around the office blankly. Every- 
thing was there just as usual, the little key and the 
sounder, over which had come all “C’s” pleasant 
talk. “CC!” That creature! The odor of his 
detestable musk hovered about her even now, but 
not yet could she realize that her “C” was no 


more, 


CHAPTER Vit 


SEOOT-RY 


7 IT was a very long face that Nattie carried to 
the Hotel Norman that night ; so long that 
Miss Kling at once saw that something was 
amiss, and while curiously wondering: as to the 
cause, took a grim satisfaction in the fact. For 
Miss Kling liked not to see cheerful faces; why 
should others be happy when she had not found 
her other self? 

Nattie’s first act on gaining her own room was 
to drag forth that carefully-preserved pen and ink 
sketch, and tear it to atoms, annihilating the 
chubby Cupid with especial care. 





104 “ Good-By.” 


“ And now,” she thought to herself savagely, as 
she burned up the pieces, “I never will be inter- 
ested in people again, unless I know all about 
them. Imagination is too dangerous a guide for 
me !” 

Having thus exterminated the illustrated edition 
of her romance, Nattie felt the necessity of unbur- 
dening her mind, her sorrow not being too deep 
for words, and with that object sought Cyn; a 
proceeding much disapproved of by Miss Kling, 
who, knowing well that weakness of human nature 
that seeks a friendly bosom wherein to repose its 
sorrows, rightly surmised her lodger’s destination 
and design, and decidedly objected to any one 
knowing more than she herself did. 

Nattie found her friend at home, but to her 
vexation, not alone. With her was Quimby, who 
had called in the untold hope of gleaning tidings of 
the young lady who had—as he said to himself— 
floored him. His confusion at the sight of her, 
remembering as he did the somewhat unusual cir- 
cumstances of their last meeting, was indescribable ; 
indeed, his knees actually knocked together. Nattie, 
however, whose latest experience had effaced the 
effect, and almost the remembrance of that former 
one, bade him good-evening, without the least trace 
of consciousness or embarrassment, a composure of 


re Good. By.” 108 


“manner that astounded but at the same time filled 
him with admiration. 

As he did not take his departure, being, in fact, 
unable to tear himself away, Nattie, in her anxiety 
to tell Cyn all that was in her mind, and reflecting 
that he really was of no consequence—an argument 
not flattering to its object, but one that he probably 
would have been first to indorse had he known it— 
and, moreover, that he already knew the prologue, 
disregarded his presence and said, 

“The most. incomprehensible thing has hap- 
pened, Cyn! I cannot realize it even now!” . 

Quimby quaked in his boots, and grew hot all 
over with the fear that she was going to relate their 
last evening’s adventure. Could it be possible? 

“T knew that something was the matter the mo- 
ment you entered the room,” said Cyn. “I cannot 
imagine why you should look as if you were going 
_into the grave-digging business !”’ 

“Ah, Cyn!” exclaimed Nattie, as if the words 
hurt her, “He—‘ C,’ called on me to-day !” 

Quimby gave a bounce, and then grew limp in 
all his joints. i is 

“Ts it possible? Personally?’ questioned Cyn, 
with great interest and animation; then glancing at 
_Nattie’s face, her tone changed as she added, “He 
was not what you thought! I understand, poor Nat !’ 


106 “ Good-By.” 


Quimby straightened himself up. He fancied he 
saw a gleam of hope ahead. 7 

“Far enough from what I thought!” replied 
Nattie, with a mixture of pathos and disgust. 
“Why did he not remain invisible?’ then, in a 
burst of disappointment—“Cyn, he is simply 
awful! All red hair and grease, musk, cheap 
jewelry, and insolent assurance !” 

Quimby glanced in the opposite glass, and. 

his face brightened all over. He felt like a new 
man ! 
““Oh, dear! Is it as bad as that?’ said Cyn, 
looking dismayed. “He was so entertaining on 
the wire, I can hardly believe it. Are you quite 
sure it was ‘C’ ?” 

“T could not realize it myself, but it is a fact 
nevertheless,’ Nattie answered sorrowfully, and 
then related what she termed the “ disgusting 
details.”” Cyn listened, vexed and sorry, for she too 
had become interested in the invisible “C,” but 
Quimby found it impossible to restrain his joy 
at this complete overthrow of one whom. he had 
ever considered a formidable rival. 

“Tt is no use to talk about romance in real life!” 
said the annoyed Cyn, yielding to the convic- 
tion that the obnoxious visitor really was “C,” 
as Nattie concluded. “It is nice to read about, — 


“ Good-By.” 107 


and to enact on the stage, but it’s altogether too 
unreliable for our solid, every-day world. Well, 
dear !” consolingly, “it’s better to know the truth 
than to have gone on blindly talking to so un- 
desirable an acquaintance !” 1 PEO 

“Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise,” 
quoted Nattie, with a shrug of her shoulders. 
“ But—yes—I suppose I—ought ta be glad I know 
the worst.” 

“I—I beg pardon, but I—I think I hinted it 
might be as it has proved, you. know!” said 
Quimby, trying not to look triumphant, and failing 
signally. 

Not particularly pleased at having his superior 
_ discernment thus pointed out, Nattie replied rather 
shortly, 

“Tt was luck and chance anyway, and it was my 
luck to stumble on the most disagreeable specimen 
in the business. That is all.” . 

“Do you suppose he is aware of the impression 
he produced on you ?” asked Cyn. 

“No, indeed!’ Nattie replied scornfully. “Is _ 
there anything so blind as vulgar, ignorant, self- 
conceit? I have no doubt he thinks I was 
charmed !” . 

“Then how will you manage when he wants to 
talk on the wire again?” asked Cyn. 


108 “ Good-By.” 


“T shall have to make excuses until he takes the 
hint. Oh, dear!” said Nattie with a sigh, “I 
believe it is impossible to get any comfort out 
of this world !” 

‘Oh, no, it isn’t !” said Cyn in her bright cheery 
manner. ‘The way to do is not to allow ourselves 
to fret over what we cannot help. I am almost 
as disappointed as you, dear, over this total collapse 
of what opened so interestingly ; but the curtain 
has fallen on the ignominious last act of our little 
drama, so farewell—a long farewell to our wired 
romance !” 

As Cyn spoke, the somewhat unmusical voice of 
Jo Norton was heard in the hall, singing an air from 
a popular burlesque, followed by the appearance 
among them of Jo himself. _Of course the whole 
story had to be related for his benefit, and very little 
sympathy did Nattie receive from him. 

“Let this teach you a lesson, young lady!” he 
said, with mock solemnity, “namely, Attend to your 
business and let romance alone !” 

“As you do!” said Cyn. 

“As I do,” he echoed, “and consequently be 
happy asIlam! Itell you, romance and sentiment 
and love, and all that bosh, are at the bottom of two- 
thirds of all the misery in the world!” 

Notwithstanding which sage remark, and the fact 


“* Good-By.” 109 


of the curtain having fallen on the end, as Cyn said, 
for a moment yesterday was as if it had never been, . 
when Nattie entered her office the next morning and 
was greeted with the familiar, 

“B m—B m—B m—where is my little girl at 
B m, to say good-morning to me?” and she made 
an involuntary movement towards the key to re- 
spond in the usual way. 

The remembrance of the actual state of things 
checked her just in time, and then, with a rather un- 
certain and tremulous touch of the key she answered, 

“Good morning ! wait—am busy !” 
| “One untruth !” she thought to herself, as “C”’ 

became mute, “not the only one I shall have to tell, I 
fear, before I succeed in conveying my exact mean- 
ing to the understanding of—the person. I will 
pick a quarrel, if possible, and he persists in talking ! 
Oh, dear! I could have endured the red hair, even 
those dreadful teeth, had it not been for the bear’s- 
grease and general vulgarity of the creature. Well, 
it’s all over now!” and she sighed, from which it 
may be inferred that Jo’s admonitions had not been 
of much consolation to her. 

We do not take the lessons our experience teaches 
us, to heart immediately; first, their bitterness 
_ must be overcome. 

To Nattie’s great relief, the wire happened to be 


110 “ Good-By.” 





very busy that morning, but whenever it was possi- 
ble “C” called her, and called in vain. 

Immediately after her return from dinner, how- 
ever, having just received and signed for a message, 
*“C,” the moment she closed her key, said, 

“Where have you been to-day? are you not glad 
to have me back again? it cannot be I am so soon 
forgotten ?” 

Unable to avoid answering, Nattie responded on 
the wrong side of truth again. ‘‘ Have been busy; 
wait, please, a customer here.” 

“T cannot help saying, confound the luck !” “C” 
responded, savagely. To which anathema Nattie 
turned up her nose scornfully, and made no reply. 


’” 


The nervous dread of his “calling,” that was 
upon her all day, caused her to make more blunders 
than she had ever done in all her telegraphic career. 
She gave wrong change continually, numbered her 
messages incorrectly, and “broke” so much that the 
operator who sent to her had a headache with ill- 
humor. Usually very quick at deciphering the 
illegible scrawls often handed her for transmission, 
she to-day was frowned at for her stupidity in 
making them out; and one lady to whom a message 
'was sent through poor Nattie’s office, was much 
exercised on receiving it, to learn over an unknown 
gentleman’s signature, that he would be with her at 


“ Good-By.” II! 


midnight. He really was her husband, but Nattie 
had transmitted the name the writing looked most 
like, which was one very remote from the real one. _ 

All these mistakes she laid at ‘“C’s”’ door, and 
grew more disgusted with him, accordingly, 
especially when she counted her cash, and found 
herself a dollar short. She managed, however, by 
frequent excuses, to get along without holding any 
conversation with him until the latter part of the 
afternoon, when, the wire not: being in use, and 
business slacking up, he called persistently, sav- 
agely, and entreatingly—all of which phases can be 
expressed in dots and dashes—interspersing the 
call with such expressions as, 

“Please answer, N! Where are you, N? Why 
will you treat thus a poor fellow who thinks so 
much of you ?” ty 

“YT should think he might takea hint! Must I 
tell him in plain words that a personal inspection 
leads me to decline the honor of farther acquaint- 
ance? when, too, he particularly requested me not 
to mention his visit, over the wire?” thought Nattie ; 
and then, as he continued to call, she arose impa- 
tiently, and answered shortly, 

pir: 

“You naughty little girl!’ immediately re- 
sponded “C,” “where have you been all day? Is it — 


112 “ Good-By.” 





* 


thus you treat me on my return, when I expected 
you would be glad to see me again ?” 

“I have been busy,” Nattie replied briefly, with a 
repetition of her platitude, and cringing at the same 
time over the first of his remark, as she recalled his 
tout ensemble. 

“So you have said every time I have called,” 
“C” answered, apparently entirely unconscious of 
the possible reason. “ What is the cause? You 
never used to be busy a/ways, you know !” 

“How different he is on the wire from what he 
isin reality !” thought Nattie, with a return of her 
first disappointment, ‘“‘and how hard it is to merge 
the two in one!” But she answered, 

“There is a first time for everything ; besides, I 
have not felt like talking to-day.” 

“Not with me?’ queried ‘C.” 

“No!” replied Nattie briefly, and to the point. 

“C” held his key open a moment. 

“TI do not understand it,” he said at last. “It 
isn’t possible that I have done anything to offend 
you ?” s 

“Only offended me with the sight of you!”. 
thought Nattie; but unwilling to be really impolite, 
replied, “ Certainly not !” 

“You are not angry about yesterday, are you ?” 
pursued “C.” 


““ Good-By.” 113 

SNL... Guihin Will 

“Certainly not,” repeated Nattie, adding to her- 
self, “ A faint idea that I did not exactly fall in 
love with you is creeping into your red head, is 
it?” | 

“Tf I have done anything, I beg you to tell me 
what, for I am ignorant of it, and I assure you I am 
penitent, and that I forgive you!” continued “C,” 
“only please don’t be cross to me!” 

Nattie saw her opportunity for picking a 
quarrel, and seized it. : 

“T do not know what you mean by my being 


1? 


cross!” she said. ‘‘I am sure I was not aware that I 
was obliged to talk to any one unless I felt like it. 
I am not in the mood to-day, and I will not be 
forced. You have no right to call me cross, and 
when I am in the humor to talk with you again 
I will let you know!” 

“Very well!’.“C” replied promptly, undoubt- 
edly angry himself now; “I will wait your pleas- 
ure !” and then was mute. 

“Tt has not been quite so gradual as I intended, 
but I think I have effectually settled the matter, and 
my mind is relieved,’ thought Nattie; yet she 
sighed, and her satisfaction was followed by depres- 
sion, for with “C”’ departed the pleasantest part of 
her office life, a fact she could not disguise. In the 
week that followed, when “C,” true to his word, 

8 


114 | “* Good-By.” 





waited, saying nothing, she missed continually the 
sympathy, the gay talk, the companionship that had 
made the constantly-occurring annoyances endura- 
ble, and the days that dragged so now seem short. 
The office business did not fill half her time, and the 
constant confinement began to be irksome to her, 
whose nature demanded activity ; in consequence, 
she often grew impatient and answered unnecessary 
questions of customers with a shortness that gave 
considerable offence; and had it not been for Cyn, 
who brought her sunny presence quite often into the 
office, heedless of the “no admittance” on the door, 
the monotony that had now displaced the romantic 
side of telegraphy would have plunged Nattie 
among the shadows almost constantly. 

Of course the sudden cessation of the intimacy 
between “C” and “N” was a theme of much sur- 
prise and bantering comments along the line, espe- 
cially from “Em.” But these facetious remarks 
gradually became fewer as the wonder subsided. 
One day, nearly two weeks after the “collapse,” 
Nattie was surprised to hear the old familiar “ B m— 
Bm—B m—Xn.” Wondering if he had grown tired 
of waiting and was about to attempt a renewal of 
their former friendship, Nattie rather impatiently 
answered. But it proved he had a message, an 
occurrence quite infrequent with him. This he 


“* Good-By.” 115 





sent without unnecessary words. But after she had 
given “O. K.” and closed her key, he opened his to 
goin ® 

4 Please, don’t you want to make up, N ?” 

“T have nothing to make up!” Nattie replied. 

“OQ. K.” was “C’s”’ response as he again subsided. 

“Fle snubs easily!” thought Nattie, much re- 
lieved. 

The following Saturday night, however, as she 
was taking in from the shelf outside the blanks, 
ink, and bad pens that excited the ire of irascible 
customers, preparatory to closing, “‘C” once more 
called. With a devout hope that he was not going 
to be annoying, Nattie answered. 

“ Notwithstanding the late coolness between us, 
which was not my fault, and for which I cannot ac- 
count ” he began, and then some one with a rush 
message broke. in. 





“What is he coming at now I ontereehe com- 
menced with a great display of words,” thought 
Nattie curiously ; and then with a little curl of her 
lip, “‘a sentence out of some book, I suppose.” 

But as soon as the wire was quiet she said, 

“To ‘C.’ Please g a—account.”’ 

“T could not leave, as I am about to do to-night, 
without saying good-by, in remembrance of our 
former pleasant intercourse,” concluded “ C.” 


116 “* Good-By.” 





“You mean you are leaving permanently?” 
queried Nattie, surprised. 

“Yes, this is my last day here. Monday I leave 
town ; and so, with much regret that anything un- 
pleasant should have interrupted our acquaintance— 
although what it was I assure you I do not know, 
since you deign me no explanation—lI will say, not 
as I would once, au revoir, but good-by.” 

“Good-by,” answered Nattie, forgetting for the 
moment everything but “C,” the old “C,” the “C” 
who had enlivened so many hours, and about whom 
had dwelt that romantic mystery. “Good-by. Be- 
_lieve me, I shall always remember the many social 
talks we have enjoyed.” | 

“Possibly we might enjoy them again, if you de- 
sired,” ‘““C” said then, as if he gave her a chance for 
explanation or to express such a wish. 

But Nattie, recalling now the bears-grease, the 
musk, the cheap jewelry and their obnoxious pos- 
-sessor, answered only, 

“‘Good-by.” 


The Feast. 117 





CHAPTER VIII. 


THE FEAST. 


Dis att, discontentedly over the perplexi- 
>) 


ties of life, a habit she had allowed herself to 
indulge in quite frequently of late, one day 

not long after the final exit of the once interesting 
but now obnoxious “C,” Nattie suddenly became 
aware of a pair of merry brown eyes, belonging to a 
fine-looking young gentleman, observing her critic- 
ally, and with apparently no intention of discon- 
tinuing their scrutiny. At which, in her present 
state of temper, Nattie turned very red and very an- 
gry. “Iam not on exhibition,” she thought, indig- 
nantly, and rising majestically, went towards him 
with the curt inquiry, 

“Did you wish to send a message, sir?” . 

The young gentleman hesitated, and appeared 
slightly embarrassed, but did not take his eyes from. 
her face, nevertheless. 

“T merely wished to ask the tariff to Washington,” 
he replied, at length. 

“Forty cents,” Nattie answered, shortly. 

“Thank you,” he said, but without moving, and 


118 The Feast. 


after a moment, as if desirous of opening a conver- 
sation, he continued, smiling, “I hardly think I will 
senda message to-day ; I presume you will not object 
to being. spared the trouble?” 

Nattie, having been quarreling all day with 
intangible somethings, was rather glad than otherwise 
to find a real object upon which she could vent the 
unamiability resulting from her surplus discontent. 
The young man’s evident desire to talk more than 
circumstances warranted, was displeasing to her, and 
she rejoined very stiffly, 

“Tt is a matter of perfect indifference to me,” and 
turned away. 

With an amused smile, he looked at the back thus 
presented to his view, opened his lips to speak, 
hesitated, and finally walked away. Nattie, looking 
after him out of the corners of her eyes, saw him 
glance back as he opened the door, and had a 
remorseful feeling that perhaps she had been crosser 
to him than he really deserved, for he was certainly 
very fine-looking. But what was done could not be 
undone, and with no expectation of ever seeing him 
again, she dismissed the matter from her mind. 

The best, perhaps the only really pleasant part of 
Nattie’s life now, was her evening's, passed almost 
invariably with Cyn. Indeed, Cyn seemed to be a 
magnet, around which all ygathered—Quimby, al- 


The Feast. — 7 119 


though, of course, Cyn herself was not his chief at- 
traction—Celeste Fishblate, who determinedly pushed 
herself into an intimacy, and Jo Norton, who, had it 
not been for the fact so loudly proclaimed by himself, 
of his having no sentiment in his soul, would have 
been suspected of being on the road to falling in 
love with Cyn, so strangely was he attracted to her 
company. But this, of course, was impossible for 
him ! 

“That will not do, dear,” Cyn remarked, when 
Nattie related her little adventure with the young 
gentleman. “Do you know you have been in a 
dreadful state of mind ever since ‘C’ intruded his 
personality ?” 

Nattie colored a little as she replied, discontent- 
edly, “Oh, it isn’t ¢haz, I assure you; the truth is, I 
am ambitious, Cyn. I suppose I forgot it, slightly, 
while I was so interested in‘C;’ but I cannot be con- 
tent with a mere working on from day to day, in the 
same old routine, and nothing more.” 

Cyn looked at her scrutinizingly, as she asked, 
“But in what particular way are you am&itious ? to 
be rich, or what ?” 

“Oh! not for money!” Nattie answered, with a 
slight contempt for that necessary and convenient 
article. ‘“I am ambitious for fame! I want to bea 
writer ; but when I think of the obstacles in my way, 


120 : The Feast. 


to an opening, even, in that direction, I am daunted. 
I have attacks of energy, it is true, but I fear it is 
fitful ; it comes and goes.” 

“T understand,” Cyn replied, with more than 
wonted seriousness. ‘“ Your ambition is great enough 
to render you useless and discontented, but you need 
something to stimulate your energy, else it will 
waste itself in idle dreams. Perhaps love may come 
to be that motive power; perhaps—” and a shade 
crossed her sunny face—“ some great disappoint- 
ment.” 

There was a moment’s silence, Nattie pondering 
thoughtfully on these words; and then Cyn con- 
tinued, 

“But in the meantime, since you can at present 
accomplish nothing, why not get all the enjoyment 
you can out of life, as it goes? So, when the oppor- 
tunity comes, and you seize it, you will not have to 
look back on years wasted in vain longings for the 
then unattainable. Zzat is my philosophy—and I, 
too, am ambitious.” 

“Your philosophy is cheery, at least,” said Nattie, 
‘smiling. “But I am afraid it is very hard for am- 
bitious people to take life easy : and that is not all 
of my troubles,” she continued, gayly, “I can’t get 
anything good to eat !” 

“Poor child,” said Cyn, with mock seriousness, 


The Feast. 121 


“this zs coming from the sublime to the ridiculous. 
What is the cause of the lamentable fact ?” 

“Oh! I am so tired of both boarding-houses and 
restaurants. In the former they never have what 
one likes—and ah! such steak !—while in the latter 
you have to pick out all the cheap dishes, or ruin 
yourself at a meal.” | 

Cyn laughed. 

“T assure you I can appreciate your feelings, 
from sad experience! I, myself, am _ positively 
longing for a nice sirloin steak.” Then, a sudden. 
thought striking her, “I will tell you what we will 
do, Nat, we will have a little feast !” : 

“A feast?” repeated Nattie, not exactly compre- 
hending. 

“ Yes—I have a little gas stove—low be it said, 
lest Mrs. Simonson hear and bring in a terrific bill 
for-extra gas !—I use it sometimes to cook my din- 
ner, when I do not feel like going out, and why 
should we not have a feast all to ourselves some 
day? and the sirloin steak shall be forthcoming ! 
and what do you say to Charlotte Russe? In short, 
we will have everything we can think. of, and you 
shall be assistant cook !” 

“That would be splendid!” cried Nattie, de- 
lighted, “only it will have to be some Sunday, as 
that is my only leisure day, you know.” 


122 The Feast. 


“All the better, for then we will be less liable to 


’ 


intrusion,’ responded Cyn, gayly. ‘So make a 
memorandum to that effect, for next week. We 
must not let Mrs. Simonson know, however, on 
account of the gas stove; I pay her too much rent 
now. I am afraid we shall have a little difficulty 
about dishes. The few I have are not exactly real 
Sévres china, or even decently conventional. 
But-——” 

“Qh! never mind the dishes!” interrupted 
Nattie. “Anything will do! I have myself a 
cracked tumbler, and a spoon, that will perhaps be 
useful for something.” 

Agreeing therefore to hold dishes in strict con- 
tempt, the following Sunday found the two girls 
with closed doors, in the midst of great preparations 
for a truly Bohemian feast, as Cyn termed it; 
Nattie with her crimps tied down in a blue handker- 
chief, and Cyn with her sleeves rolled up, and an 
old skirt of a dress doing duty as apron. 

“Tet me see,’ said Nattie merrily, taking 
account of stock. “Two pounds of steak—the 
first cut of the sirloin, I think you said ?—waiting, 
expectant of making glad our hearts, on the rocking- 
chair, potatoes in plebeian lowliness under the table, 
tomatoes and two pies on your trunk, Charlotte 
Russes—delicious Charlotte Russes—where? Ah! 


The feast. 123 


—on your bonnet-box, in a plate ordinarily used as 
a card receiver, and sugar, butter, et cetera, and et 
cetera lying around almost anywhere, and the figs, 
oranges and homely, but necessary bread, where are 
they? I see, on top of ‘Dombey & Son!” 

“And our dishes will not quarrel, because they 
are none of them any relation to each other!” 
laughed Cyn, as she peeled the tomatoes. “I 
fear goblets will have to take upon themselves 
the. duties of cups, and that cracked tumbler of 
yours must be used for something. I am sorry that 
saucepan is so dilapidated, but it is the best I own !” 

“And in that saucepan we must both boil the 
potatoes and stew the tomatoes. Won’t one cool 
while the other is doing?’ queried Nattie, hovering 
lovingly over the steak. 

“T think not; Cyn answered. “You won't 
mind the coffee being boiled in a tin can, once the 
repository of preserved peaches, will you ?” 

“Ah, no !” replied Nattie emphatically, and 
sawing at the steak with a very dull knife, without a 
handle. “It will be just as good when it’s poured 
out.” 

“T had a coffee-pot once, but I melted the nose 
off and forgot to buy another yesterday,” Cyn said, 
‘putting on the potatoes. 

“We will call our contrivance a coffee-urn ; it 


124 The Feast. 


sounds aristocratic,” suggested Nattie, as she cleared 
the books from the least shaky table, and spread it 
with three towels, in lieu of a table-cloth. “But 
what shall we do for plates to put the pies on?” 

“Take those two wooden box covers in the 
closet,” promptly responded Cyn. ‘“ That is right, 
and see, here is room also for the coffee—pardon me, 
I had almost said commonplace coffee-pot !”’ 

“But the tomato! what caz we pour that in?” 
suddenly exclaimed Nattie, with great concern. 

Cyn scanned every object in the room with dismay. 

“'The—the wash-bowl!” she insinuated at last, 
determined not to be daunted. 

“Don’t you think it rather large? to say nothing 
of its being too suggestive?” said Nattie, laughing. 

Cyn did not press the point, but shook her head, 
dubiously. 

“T have it!” cried Nattie, “there is a fruit-dish in 
my room.” 

“Just the thing!” interrupted Cyn ecstatically, 
“JT will run and bring it, if you will attend to the 
cooking.” 

“Look out for Miss Kling,’ said Nattie, warn- 
ingly ; “if she catches a glimpse of you making off 
with my fruit-dish, she will never rest until she finds 
out everything.” . 

“Rely on me for secrecy and dispatch,” said Cyn, 


The Feast. 125 


going. “If she sees me, I will mention nuts and 
raisins; merely mention them, you know.” 

But Miss Kling, for once, was napping; perhaps 
dreaming of him Cyn called the Torpedo—Celeste’s 
father—and she obtained the dish, reached her own 
door again without being seen by any one except 
the Duchess, and was. congratulating herself on her 
good luck, when suddenly, like an apparition, 
Quimby stood: before her. : 

Cyn started, murmured something about 
“ oranges,’ slipped the. soap-dish she had .also 
confiscated into her pocket, and tried to make the 
big fruit-dish appear as small as possible. 

She might, however, have spared herself any 
uneasiness, for this always the most unobservant 
of mortals, was too much overburdened with some 
affair of his own, to notice even a two-quart dish. 

“Oh! I—I beg pardon, I—I was coming with a 
a—request to your room,” he said eagerly. ‘“ I— 
would it be too much to—to bring a friend, he 
knows no one here, and I. am sure he and you 
would fraternize at once, if I might bring him, 
you know.” 

“ Certainly—yes !”’ replied Cyn, too anxious to 
get away to pay much attention to his words, 
particularly as an odor of steak reached her nos- 
trils. 


126 The Feast, 


“Thank you! I—I never knew any one who 
understood me as well as you!” he said with a 
grateful bow, and without more words, Cyn left 
him. 

“How long you have been gone!” Nattie re- 
marked, looking up, her cheeks very red, and her 
nose embellished with a streak of smut, as Cyn 
entered. ‘ Did you see any one?” 

“No one except Quimby, who stopped me to 
ask about bringing a friend to call some evening,” 
Cyn replied, displaying the fruit, and producing 
the soap-dish. 

“Mercy son jus!” Naitie said, looking rather 
aghast, “it is rather large, isn’t it? and what did 
you bring that soap-dish for ?” 

“TI thought it might come handy,” laughed Cyn. 
We will make a potato holder of it for the time. 
‘To what base uses may we come at last ?—Why—” 
in a tone of surprise, “here is the Duchess !” 

And sure enough, up by the window sat that 
sagacious animal, winking and blinking compla- 
cently, and evidently determined to be a third in the 
feast. 

“She came in unnoticed under the shadow that 
fruit-dish threw,” said Nattie, teasingly. 

Cyn shook an oyster fork at her threateningly. 

“Say another such word and you shall have no 


The Feast. 127 


steak!” she said tragically, “instead, a dungeon 
shall be your doom. We will let the Duchess 
remain as a receiver of odds and ends. I suppose 
her suspicions were excited by the sight of these 
articles. A rare cat! a learned cat! now please set 
the table, for our feast will soon be prepared !” and 
Cyn bent over the sizzling steak, that emitted a 
most appetizing odor. 

Setting that table was no such easy matter as 
might appear, for what with the big fruit-dish, 
wooden covers, different sizes of plates and other 
incongruous articles, considerable management was 
necessary. 

“T shall have to put the sugar on in the bag,” 
Nattie said, incautiously backing to view the general 
effect, and so stumbling over the saucepan of potatoes 
that sat on the floor, but luckily doing no damage. 

“Ah, well! Eccentricity is quite the rage now, 
you know,” responded the philosophical Cyn, “and 
certainly, a sugar-bowl so closely resembling a brown 
paper bag as not to be distinguishable from the real 
thing, is quite récherché. But my dear Nat, where 
am I to set the steak if you have that big fruit-dish 
in the center of the table, taking up all the room ?” 

“‘T shall have to put it on the floor, then,” Nattie 
answered, despairingly, “for I have tried it on all 
parts of the table! If you set it on the edge,” she 


128 The Feast. 


added hastily, seeing Cyn about to do so, “you will 
tip the whole thing over !” 

“Then we must have a side-board,” Cyn an- 
nounced, with a plate of steak in one hand, and the 
big fruit-dish in the other. “Put my writing-desk 
on a chair, please; spread a towel over it, and there 
you have it!” 

“But what a quantity of eatables we have! Two 
pounds of steak, ten big potatoes, a two-quart dish 
of tomatoes, two large pies, two Charlotte Russes, an 
urn of coffee, a dozen oranges and a box of figs—-good 
gracious! Think of two people eating all that !” 
exclaimed Nattie, decidedly dismayed at the prospect. 

“Tt is considerable,” Cyn confessed, surveying 
the array with a slightly daunted expression. 
“You see I am not used to buying for a family, 
and I was afraid of getting too little. But,” bright- 
ening, “there isn’t more than one quart of the 
tomatoes, and there are ¢Aree of us, you know—the 
Duchess !” 

“To. be sure ; I had forgotten her!” Nattie said, 
recovering her equanimity, and glancing at the pur- 
ring animal, who was looking on approvingly, and 
evidently appreciated the difference between sirloin 
and her usual rations of round. 

“Then let the revels commence, at once!” cried 


é 


The Feast. 886 


Cyn, rolling down her sleeves, while Nattie wiped 
the smut from her face. ; 

But now another difficulty presented itself; the 
chairs were all too low to admit of feasting with 
the anticipated rapture; this was soon overcome, 
however, by piling a few books in the highest chair, 
and appropriating the music-stool. | 

“Now for a feast,” exclaimed Nattie, exultantly, 
as they sat down triumphant, and she brandished 
_ her very big knife and extremely small fork, while 
Cyn poured the coffee from the—urn; an undertak- 
ing attended with some difficulty, and requiring cau- 
tion; and the Duchess looked on expectantly. 

And then—the goal almost reached—upon their 
startled ears came a dreadful sound—the sound of a 
knock at the door ! 

Down to the ground went Nattie’s knife and 
fork, the coffee-urn narrowly escaped a similar fate, 
up went the back of the Duchess, and two dismayed 
Bohemians and one impatient cat gazed at each 
other. | 


130 | Unexpected Visitors. 





CHAPTER IX. 
UNEXPECTED VISITORS. 


T must be Miss Kling, overpowered by 





curiosity !” murmured Nattie. 


Pad “No !” answered Cyn in a stage whisper, 





“the knock is too timid. Good gracious! there 
it is again! Stand in front of the gas stove, Nat, 
lest it be Mrs. Simonson, while I go and invent 
some excuse for not letting in whoever it is.” 

And having given these hasty directions, Cyn 
opened the door the smallest possible crack. As 
she did so, and before she could speak, it was 
pushed back violently, almost knocking her over, 
and in burst Quimby. This, however, might not 
have much disconcerted them, as Ze could have been 
disposed of easily enough, had not at his heels came 
a tall, fine-looking young man, a perfect stranger to 
both Cyn and Nattie. 

“You see I keep my word!’ was the enigmatical 
remark the smiling Quimby made as he entered. 
Then, catching sight of the festive board, he stopped 
short and stared, with an utterly confounded face, at 
that, at the embarrassed Nattie; at Cyn, behind the 
door, and at the saucepan cover, which, embellished 


Unexpected Visitors. 131 





with potato parings, occupied a prominent position 
in the middle of the floor. 

His companion also paused, a surprised and 
amused smile lurking in his merry brown eyes as 
he looked at Nattie, seemingly regardless of any-_ 
thing else in the room. 

Cyn was the first to recover from the general 
petrifaction, and with the involuntary thought, 
“what an excellent stage situation!” came from 
behind the door, where Quimby’s impetuous en- 
trance had thrust her, saying, with as much ease as 
she could possibly gather together, 

“Don’t be frightened at what you see, friend 
Quimby ; we were only extemporizing a little feast, 
that is all. Will you join us?” | 

But Quimby only stared harder than ever; he 
was evidently struck speechless. 

His companion, thus placed in the awkward 
position of an unintroduced intruder, withdrew his 
eyes from Nattie, took in the situation at a glance, 
and turning. to Cyn, said, smiling, 
 “Tthink we owe you an apology for our intru- 
sion; my friend Quimby, on whom I called to-day, 
in pity for my being a stranger in the city, kindly 
offered to introduce me to some friends of his. He 
informed me we were expected, but I fear we have 
made a mistake.” ? 


Gos: Unexpected Visitors. 


At this Quimby recovered his voice. 
“No!” hecried, in stentorian tones, “it was not— 
I cannot have made a mistake this time, you know! 
Cyn ”—looking at her reproachfully—“ you knew 
about it! I met you a short time ago, and asked you 
/—and you said we might come, you know !” 

- Half amazed and half amused, Cyn shook her 
head in denial, at which action Quimby started and 
turned pale. : . 

“Why I—I beg pardon—but in the hall! you 
said, ‘certainly,’ you know !” 

“Oh!” said Cyn, a light breaking in upon her, 
“1 see, but I did not then understand you, I suppose ;” : 
rallying from her embarrassment, “my mind was so 
occupied with our feast, I was incapable of thinking 
of anything else ; so please consider this an apology 
for the condition in which you find us, to yourself 
and your friend, whom, you will pardon me for res 
minding you, you have zof introduced,” and Cyn 
looking laughingly at the stranger, who also laughed. 

“Oh! I—I beg pardon, I am sure, for—for all my 
stupidities. I—I am always doing something wrong, 
but I—I am used to it, you know,” said the discon- - 
certed Quimby ; then wiping the perspiration from 
his forehead, he added clumsily, “my friend, Mr. 
Stanwood—Cyn—and Miss—Miss Rogers.”’ 

Mr. Stanwood gayly shook hands with Cyn, 


U ncxpected Visitors. | 133 





whom Quimby had nervously forgotten to honor 
with a Miss, and then advanced to Nattie, who had 
not stirred from her position as screen for the gas 
stove, saying, 

“T am delighted to make your acquaintance, 
Miss Rogers.” 

And as Nattie Se his proffered hand, in an 
embarrassed way, not yet being able to rise to the 
situation, and observed the peculiarly roguish ex- 
pression with which he regarded her, she suddenly . 
became aware that she had seen him on some pre- 
vious occasion, but where she was utterly at loss to 
remember, . 

Cyn, too, was struck pe something a little odd 
in his manner to Nattie, and glanced at him curi- 
ously, as she said in her most cordial tones, 

“And now, gentlemen, as we have exchanged 
apologies all around, please be seated.” 

Quimby immediately bounced up from the music- 
stool, on which, in his agitation, he had involuntarily 
dropped. | , 

‘Oh, no!” he exclaimed hastily. “We—we did 
did not come to dinner, you know !” | 

Cyn smiled at Quimby’s anxiety to disclaim 
intentions no one thought of attributing to him, and 
turning to Mr. Stanwood, asked, thereby greatly 
scandalizing Nattie, 


134 Unexpected Visitors. 


“But supposing you were invited to stay and 
share our banquet, would you?” 

“Were I sure the invitation was heartfelt, I 
should be sorely tempted ; wouldn’t you, Quimby ?” 
Mr. Stanwood replied, easily. 

Poor Quimby twirled his thumbs confusedly, and 
murmured something about leaving the ladies to 
~ enjoy their “feast” alone. . 

‘“We have eatables enough for six, as Nat was 


bf 


just now intimating,” went on Cyn, who certainly 
had a touch of true Bohemianism in her composi- 
tion, as wellas Jo Norton. “But our dishes; ‘ay, 
there’s the rub,’” and she laughingly held up the 
coffee-urn, while the less adaptable Nattie thought 
apprehensively of the propensity of things to cool. 

Undaunted by the urn, Mr. Stanwood said, with 
humorous wistfulness, but looking at Nattie, 

“You won't force us to eat the dishes, will you? 
and that steak smells so nice, and I haven’t had any 
dinner !” 

“Then away with ceremony and sit down to the 
banquet!” said the reckless Cyn, regardless of the 
protest in Nattie’s face; and truth to tell, the former 
young lady was not at all averse to this addition to 
their number. 

And to the consternation of Quimby, and dismay 
of Nattie, and possibly a little to the surprise of 


Unexpected Visitors. 135, 





Cyn, Mr. Stanwood replied by seating himself down 
in a rocking-chair, and saying gayly, 
“Tf feel positive that Iam about to enjoy myself 


as I have not since I was a boy, and stole eggs, and 


cooked them on a flat rock behind my uncle’s barn, 
and had raw turnip for dessert. Sit down, Quimby!’ 

Upon this Quimby, with a blushing protest 
against an intrusion, that did not seem to trouble 


his merry friend in the least, also sat down. 


As he did so, Nattie screamed; but too late. On 


the crowning glory of the feast, on those enticing 
Charlotte Russes, crowded from the table on to a 
chair, there was Quimby ! 

“Bless my soul! what is the matter?” he asked, 
staring astounded at Nattie’s scream, but still sitting 
there, entirely unconscious of the ruin he had 
wrought. 

Cyn’s anguish knew no bounds, as she saw what 
had happened. 

“Get up!” she cried, wringing her hands, “can’t 


you get up? good gracious! don’t yea know what 


you are sitting on?” 

“Eh?” he queried, rising obediently, and looking 
at her with ablank expression. “Sitting on?” then 
following her frantic gesture, he turned and looked 
at the chair behind him, and instantly horror over- 
spread his countenance. 


- 


136 Unexpected Visitors. 


——_- 


he gasped, turning round and 


{”” 


“Bless my soul ! 
round, trying to get a glimpse of his own coat-tails. 
“How did it come there? what is it ?” 

“Tt is—was Charlotte Russe!’ said Nattie, in 
gloomy despair. 

“ Charlotte Russe!’ echoed Quimby, still turning 
himself around like a revolving light. “It—it don’t 
look much like it, you know !” 

At this, Mr. Stanwood, who had with difficulty 
suppressed his laughter until now, burst into an 
uncontrollable roar, in which he was joined by Cyn, 
and then by Nattie. They laughed until utterly 
exhausted, Quimby all the time keeping up his 
rotatory motion, with a face whose lugubriousness 
cannot be described. 

**I—I—bless my soul! I will replace ee I 
have destroyed ! I—I assure you, I will!” the un- 
fortunate Quimby groaned, as soon as he could be 
heard. ‘“I—what can I say, to express my. sorrow 
—I—” and suddenly ceasing to revolve, he snatched — 
Mr. Stanwood’s hat, and started for the door. 


aa 


“Where are you going!” his friend questioned 
as gravely as he could. 

“More Charlotte Russes!” he responded inco- 
_ herently, and with an agonized face. 
“Tf I may be permitted to make a suggestion,” 


said Mr. Stanwood with labored gravity, “I should 


Unexpected Visitors. 137 


say, some little change in your toilet would be quite 
appropriate before going on the street, and more- 
over, that my hat will not fit your head !” 

At this, Quimby dropped the hat he held as if it 
had been red-hot, glanced at the chair whereon he 
had so lately distinguished himself, took up the 
tails of his coat one in each hand, revolved again, 
and then without a word darted from the room. 

As well as she could from laughing, Cyn called 
after him, telling him not to mind about getting the 
Charlotte Russes, and to hurry back, but he made 
no response. | 

“Poor Quimby !” said Mr. Stanwood, wiping the 
tears of excessive mirth from his eyes. “Heis sucha 
. good fellow, it is too bad he always isin hot water.” 

“Yes,” assented Cyn, removing the chair with 
the remains of what had been clinging to it from 
sight, Nattie following it with a somewhat rueful 
glance. ‘Shall we wait for him? I fear our 
dinner is getting cold.” 

“T don’t think we had better,” Nattie, who had 
long been filled with a similar presentiment, re- 
sponded. “There is no knowing whether he will 
return or not, and it’s no use in having everything 
spoiled.” 

“I do not think he will expect us to wait,” Mr. 
aod said. 


138 ‘ Unexpected Visitors. 


“Well then,” said Cyn, “here.is a chair for you, 
Mr. Stanwood. It’s all-right, so you need not look 
before sitting. Luckily you are taller than we, and 
need no books to raise you. Now the question is, 
what shall we give you to eat from? Ah! here is 
the bread plate! Nat, can’t you find another | 
wooden cover? No? Then spread a piece of 
brown paper over ‘Scribner’s.’ How fortunate 
we have an extra knife and fork; you don’t mind 
their being oyster forks? I thought not! Nat 
and I will use the same spoon, so you can have 
a whole one. Nat, you and I will have to drink 
from that cracked tumbler.” 

“Allow me,” interrupted Mr. Stanwood. “Do 
you know,” solemnly, “fa cracked tumbler is and 
always was the height of my ambition.” 

“Well then, we are all right!’ said the jovial 
Cyn. “But I fear,” she added, helping to steak, 
“if Quimby comes before we finish, he will have to 
go foraging for his own dishes !” 

Mr. Stanwood was praising the steak, which he 
certainly ate.as if the admiration was genuine, when 
a timid rap announced Quimby’s reappearance 
on the scene. In complete change of raiment, 
smelling like a field of new-mown hay, and figura- 
tively clothed in sackcloth and ashes, he entered. 

‘“‘{—I beg pardon,” he said, looking not at those 


Unexpected V. isitors. 139 


he addressed, but humbly at the Duchess, who 
had been walking the floor impatiently and indig- — 
nantly, but was now contentedly chewing. “ aes 
assure you I shall be delighted to go out and get 
Charlotte Russes to replace those I so wantonly 
. destroyed. Will you—may I be allowed?” 

“Not on any account,” said Cyn, quickly. ‘“ Be- 
sides, the stores are closed to-day.” 

“So they are, so they are!” he exclaimed, putting 
his hand to his head dejectedly. 

.“But we can exist without Charlotte Russes, I 
think,” Nattie said. She had quite recovered her 
- good humor, and was reconciled even to Mr. Stan- 
wood’s company ; indeed, had secretly confessed he 
was really an acquisition. Such is the power of 
good beefsteak ! | 

“Some other time we will talk about: it,’ Cyn 
said. “And now, we must improvise you a cup, 
plate, knife, fork, and spoon. I know you must be 
hungry after your exploit.” 

Quimby blushed. 

“T—you shall have fifty Charlotte Russes to- - 
-morrow!” he ejaculated. “But the articles you 
- mention—I—have in my room, and will bring them. 
You see I—sometimes have a little private lunch 
myself, you know,” and departing, he in a moment 
returned with his dinner accouterments, which Cyn 


140 Unexpected Vesitors. 


commanded him to put down at once, lest he demol- 
ish them. - 

‘Let me see,” she added, as he meekly deposited 
his burden on the nearest piece of furniture—which 
happened to be the piano. ‘I can make room for 
you here, next me, I think.” 

“No! no!” he exclaimed quickly ; “if you will 
be so kind, I—I would rather sit on that little stool 
in the corner, where I can do no damage, you 
know !” 

“Oh! we must not make a martyr of you!” 
laughed Nattie,as she cut a pie with a very dull 
knife, which caused the very unsteady table to shake, 
so that every one’s coffee slopped over. 

‘“No, indeed; there is plenty of room here,” 
‘added Mr. Stanwood, steadying his cracked tum- 
bler. But Quimby shook his head, 

“Now, really—I—I shall feel much more com- 
fortable if I may—if you will allow me to sit on the 
stool. I—I am used to it, you know! ’Pon my 
word, I—I mean all right, but some way always 
make a mess of it !” 

Cyn would have remonstrated further, but Mr. 
Stanwood said, “ We had better let him be happy in. 
his own way; I suppose he will not be easy uplegs 
we do!” 

And so Quimby, much to his satisfaction, was 


Unexpected Visitors. I4I 


allowed to eat his share of the feast on a low stool, 
in the corner, like a naughty school-boy. 

Visitors were destined to be numerous to-day, 
for hardly had Quimby been served, when a knock 
at the door was followed by the appearance of Jo, 
who tip-toed into the room, and in a mysterious 
whisper, said, fhe bi 

-“T saw Quimby enter this room, bearing utensils 
that could only be used for one purpose! I smelt a 
savory odor! and here I am!” 

“And welcome, too!’ said Cyn, laughing; 
“come, sit here byme. -Are you and Mr. Stanwood 
acquainted ?” , 

“Oh, yes!” replied’ Jo, perching himself on the 
arm of a rocking-chair close to Cyn, and appropri- 
ating a wooden cover for a plateas he spoke. “He 
and Quimby did me the honor to call on me to-day, 
but left for metal more attractive—whether the 
dinner or you ladies, I will not pretend to say !” 

“Tt was we ladies, you dreadful matter-of-fact 
creature!” said Nattie. “Their presence at the 
dinner was quite accidental ; Cyn and I started out 
for a little quiet feast, and behold the result! 
Bohemian enough for even you, isn’t it, Jo?” 

. “Exactly what I like!” replied Jo—and very close 
indeed to Cyn had Jo managed to get, but then the 
table was very small—“ But the idea of you two 


142 ~ Onexpected Visitors. 


girls proposing to selfishly enjoy such a feast all 
alone !” | 

““T begin to think we did make a mistake, in not 
making preparations for, and inviting a larger 
party,” acquiesced Cyn. | 

“T wonder if Miss Rogers has overcome her 
anger towards offending me?’ questioned Mr. 
Stanwood, looking at her roguishly, as she helped 
him to a second piece of pie. 

“My anger towards you?” repeated Nattie, 
coloring. 

“Yes; you did not want me to accept Miss 
Archer’s most kind invitation, and remain ; now con- 
fess, did you?” he asked, laughing. 

Nattie was rather embarrassed at this instance 
of the young gentleman’s perceptive faculties, and 
not exactly able to refute the charge, was somewhat — 

at loss how to reply. _ 
| “T—I do not get acquainted quite so easily as 
Cyn,” she stammered. 
“ Except on the wire !” Cyn added. | 
‘f Except on the wire,” repeated Nattie, with a 
smile; then meeting the curious glance of Mr. — 
Stanwood, it suddenly flashed upon her that he was 
the same young gentleman who had called at the 
office, and inquired about the tariff to Washington, 
for the sole object of talking, as she then supposed. 


Unexpected Visitors. 143 


“T have seen you before!” she exclaimed, on the 
impulse of the moment. 

“That sounds like a novel! erat is coming 
now?” ejaculated Jo, with his mouth full of pie. 

Mr. Stanwood laughed very heartily at Nattie’s 
exclamation, and asked in reply, 

“Have you just discovered it? I recognized you 
the moment I entered the roomto-day. That is one 
reason I was so anxiousto remain. She snubbed 
me most outrageously,” he added to Cyn, in expla- 
nation, “and simply because I tried to be agreeable 
to her one day at the office.” 

“But you had no business to be agreeable!” 
said Nattie, also laughing, and not at. all displeased. 

“ Of course you had not,” interrupted Jo. 


3? 


“T never talk to strangers,” concluded Nattie. 


“Except, perhaps, on the wire, as you said just 


1”? 


now !” he suggested. 

“You have caught her now !” said Cyn gayly, as 
she peeled an orange. “But you will never do 
even that again, will you, Nat ?” 

“One such experience is quite enough for me,” 
Nattie replied. 

“Still, the next one might not have red hair, or 
smell of musk!” Jo remarked. 

“Fle might be even worse, though !” interposed 
~the penitent on the stool. 


144 Unexpected Visitors. 


With a strangely puzzled look, Mr. Stanwood 
glanced from one to the other, observing which, 
Cyn said, 

“You don’t understand, of course. May I tell 
him, Nat?” f 

“Ah! well—yes!” Nattie replied with an air of 
vexed resignation. “I suppose I may as well make 
up my mind to be laughed at on account of that 
story forever and a day.” 

“T am as much of a victim as you, for I was 
intensely interested in the unknown,” laughed Cyn; 
then turning to Mr. Stanwood, she went on. “It 
appears telegraph operators have a way of talking 
together over the wire, knowing little about each 
other, and nothing at all of their mutual personal 
appearance. In this manner, Nat became acquainted 
with a young man whom she knéw as ‘C,’ and 
grew, to speak mildly, interested in him—Now, Nat, 
you know you did—and so, as I remarked pre- 
viously, did I—we were introduced over the wire. 
In fact, he seemed everything that was nice and 
agreeable, and if we did not actually fall in love 
with him—you -see, I am sharing your glory all 
I can, Nat—it is a wonder.” 

“Tf this ‘C’ knew the impression he made on 
two young ladies, he would certainly feel compli- 


_Onexpected Visitors. 145 


mented,” Mr. SS who was playing ye his 
‘knife and fork, here interrupted. 


9 


“Fortunately, he never really knew,” replied 
Cyn, while Nattie looked somewhat gloomily at 
her goblet of coffee, in memory of the romance that 
collapsed. ‘To continue this ower true tale !—Thus 
far all was mysterious, enchanting, romantic. But 
now comes the dark sequel. One day ‘C’ called— 
bodily.” 

Mr. Stanwood started and looked quickly up at 
Nattie, who, without observing his glance, mur- 
mured contemptuously, 

“* Odious creature !” 

At this he turned with a perplexed look again 
to Cyn, who proceeded. 

“Yes, an odious creature he proved to be. Only 
think, he had red hair, and dreadful teeth, smelt of 
musk, wore cheap jewelry, and, in short, was deci- 
dedly vulgar !” 

“What!” exclaimed Mr. Stanwood, staring at 
her as if he thought. she was bereft of her senses. 
“ What !” and he dropped his knife and fork, and 
pushed his chair back violently, to the alarm of the 
Duchess, who was immediately behind. 

Cyn appeared astonished at his vehemence ; but 
Nattie, too occupied with thoughts of this newly- 
revived grievance to observe it, repeated, 

10 


146 Unexpected Vi isitors. 


“Red hair, all bear’s grease, and everything to 
match !” 

“Do you mean to tell me,” Mr. Stanwood asked, 
looking at her earnestly, and speaking with great 
energy, ‘that a person, such as you describe, called 
on you and represented himself to be ‘C’ ?” 

“Exactly,” Nattie replied; “first telling me he 
was going away to substitute for a day, and then 
coming upon me in all his odiousness.” 

“The story seems to interest you,’ added Cyn, 
glancing at him scrutinizingly. 

Mr. Stanwood looked at her, at Nattie, mused a 
moment, and then burst into a laugh, equal even to 
the one Quimby had caused. 

“Tt does interest me,” he said, as soon as he 
could speak ; “‘very much, indeed. It is really the 
best joke—considered from one point—I ever heard. 
And, of course, after that day, ‘C’ was cut?” 

“Indeed he was,” Nattie replied, scornfully. 

“The circuit was broken after that!” Jo added, 
technically. 

“And a romance was spoiled in the first act,” 
added Cyn, rising from the now vanished feast. 

“Poor ‘C’!” said Mr. Stanwood, following her 
examiple. ‘Really, Miss Archer, I have enjoyed 
this dinner better than any I ever had, and the 
climax is the best of all!” 


 Onexpecited Visitors. 147 


“T wish we might have such a feast every day!” 
said Jo, regretfully. | 

“And, except the damage—I don’t refer to any 
done myself, I—I am used to it, you know—I quite 
agree with you about the dinner. And as for the 
joke—I—I—really it was quite a serious one to 
Miss Rogers, at the time, I assure you. Bless my 
soul! You should have seen how—how blue she 
was for a week, you know !” said Quimby. 

Nattie colored as Mr. Stanwood glanced at 
her, and knowing he could not but notice the blush, 
thought angrily, “ How dreadful it is to have such 
honest, outspoken people as Quimby about !” 

‘““Come, Nat, and help me clear away the re- 
mains,” said Cyn. Apparently glad enough was 
Nattie to obey, and turn aside her burning face 
from the sight of those merry brown eyes. 

In a very few moments the banqueting hall was 
transformed to a parlor, with only Quimby sucking 
an orange on his stool that he refused to leave, Jo 
cracking nuts, and the Duchess eating a fig, to tell 
of what had been. 


148 The Broken Circuit Re-united. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE BROKEN CIRCUIT RE-UNITED. 


R. STANWOOD sat down at the table where 
At Nattie was looking over Cyn’s album, and 
On seemed to have become very thoughtful ; 
Cyn meanwhile busied herself in dressing an ugly 
gash the ever-unfortunate Quimby had managed to 
inflict on his hand. 

Suddenly Nattie was disturbed by Mr. Stanwood 
drumming with a pencil on the marble top of the 
table, and glancing up casually, observed his eyes 
fixed upon her with a peculiar expression, and at 
the same moment her ear seemed to catch a familiar 
sound. With a slight start she listened more atten- 
tively to his seemingly idle drumming. Yes— 
whether knowingly, or by accident, he certainly was 
making dots and dashes, and what is more, was 
making N’s! , 

“Twill soon ascertain if he means it or not!” 
thought Nattie, and seizing a pair of scissors, the 
only adaptable instrument handy, she drummed out, 
slowly, on account of the imperfectness of her im- 
promptu key—pretending all the while to be en- 
tirely absorbed in the album, 





The Broken Circuit Re-united. 149 


“Are you an operator ?” 

Mr. Stanwood, in his turn, seemingly deeply 
engaged in the contents of a book, immediately 
drummed in response, 

ies. | 

Nattie felt the color come into her face. 

“Oh, dear!” she thought, “and Cyn told him 
that ridiculous story Every. operator in town 
will know it now.” Then with the scissors she 
asked, 

‘‘Why didn’t you say so? Where is your office?” 


? 


““T have none now,” the pencil answered, while 
Cyn, glancing across the room, wondered to see 
the two so studious, and unsuspiciously asked 
Quimby if he supposed they were practicing for a 
drum corps? After a few meaningless dots, the 
pencil went on, 

“A little girl at B m was dreadfully sold one 
day !” 

The album Nattie held fell from her hands 
as she stared petrified at her vzs-a-vis, who kept his 
eyes on his book with the most innocent expression 
imaginable, one that even a Chinaman could not 
have equaled. Where could he have heard those 
words, once so familiar? A moment’s thought 
gave her the most probable key. 

‘“You are in the main office of this city, and 


150 The Broken Circuit Re-untted. 


’ 1°? 


have heard me talking with ‘C she wrote, as 
fast as the scissors would let her. 

“No, to the first of your surmise,” came from the 
pencil, “and yes to the last.” | 

a oe office were you in?” the scissors asked. 

“Xn,” responded the pencil. 

“What! with ‘C’?’ asked the scissors, and if 
ever there was a pair of excited scissors, these were 
the ones. 

“ Well—yes,” replied the pencil with provoking 
slowness. ‘Don’t you ‘C’ the point? Can’t you 
‘C’ that you did not ‘C’ the ‘C’ you thought 
you did ‘C’ that day ?” 

Nattie’s breath came fast, and her hand trembled 
so she could not hold the scissors. With a crash 
they dropped on the table, making one loud, long 
dash. But the imperturbable pencil went on calmly, 

“Tt was alla mistake. Iam—‘C’!” 

Disdaining scissors and pencil, Nattie started 
up, exclaiming vehemently, 

“ What do you mean? it can’t be possible !” 

The consternation of Cyn, who was just inform- 
ing Quimby that his wound would do very well 
now, the horror of the patient, and the surprise of 
Jo Norton at this emphatic and unaccountable 
outburst from the hitherto so silent Nattie was 
indescribable. 


The Broken Circuit Re-united. ISI 





“Good gracious, Nat! what in the world is 
the matter?” cried Cyn, starting up and bringing 
the bottle of liniment she held in violent contact 
with Quimby’s head, a circumstance that even the 
victim did not notice, so absorbed was he in amaze- 
ment. ; 

At Nattie’s exclamation, Mr. Stanwood threw 
aside his book, pencil, and innocent countenance 
together, and regardless of any one but her, sprang 
to his feet, advanced with both hands extended, and 
shining eyes, saying, 

“I mean just what I said, it is possible 

Hardly knowing what she did, utterly confused 
and bewildered, Nattie placed her hand in the two 
that clasped it, while Cyn stared with distended eyes, 
Quimby with wide-open mouth, and Jo gave a long | 
_ whistle. Cyn was first to recover, and began to scold. 

“Well,” she exclaimed, “this zs a pretty piece of 
business, never yet played on any stage, I should 
think! Nat, will you, or will somebody have the 
goodness to explain this sudden and extraordinary 
scene ?” 

“J—I don’t understand!’ Nattie murmured 
faintly, and looking half-frightened, and _half- 
beseechingly at Mr. Stanwood, who in response 
_ smiled and said, with a firmer clasp of the hand he 
still held, 


152 The Broken Circuit Re-united. 


“T will explain in a very few moments how 
it is possible that I am the real ‘C 

“What !”” screamed Cyn. 

What !” shouted Jo. 

“What! !” absolutely yelled Quimby. 

“There has been a mistake!” Mr. Stanwood 


9999 
! 


said, now looking at Cyn. 

“A mistake!” she repeated excitedly, “what 
do you mean? You ‘C,’ our ‘C,’ of the wire? 
Nonsense! You are joking!” 

“Yes, he is joking !” Quimby reiterated, but his 
teeth chattered as he spoke. “He is a dreadful 
fellow to joke, Clem is !” 

“Clem!” cried Cyn and Nattie, in the same 
breath. 

“Do you begin to believe me?” said the gen- 
tleman who had caused all this disturbance, and 
looking at Nattie, who now becoming conscious 
that her hand was yet in his, withdrew it hastily, 
with a deep blush. 

“‘T don’t know what to think!” cried Cyn. 

“Do explain something, quick, or I shall burst 
a blood-vessel with impatience; I know I shall !” 
exclaimed Jo. 

- Mr. Stanwood complied, by saying, 

“The fact of the case is simply this: That red- 

haired young man, so graphically described by you 


The Broken Circuit ‘Re-united. 153 


girls, that ‘odious creature,’ was the operator I went 

to substitute for that day!” — ) 
“Oh!” said Nattie,a light eaten: to break 

upon her. 
“But how 
“T will tell you how, if you will be patient,” Mr. 





commenced Cyn. 


Stanwood interrupted, smiling. ‘His office, as you,” 
looking at Nattie, “remember, had once been on 
our wire. He had heard ‘N’ and I talking, and 
in fact had often annoyed us by breaking. So, 
as he was at the city, he took the opportunity to pass 
himself off for me; perhaps for the sake of a joke, 
perhaps from more malicious motives. I recognized 
his description at once, from your story to-day, and 
I remember, too, his telling me on his return, that he 
knew the best joke of the season; a remark I did 
not notice, never supposing it concerned me.” 

“Yes!” said Nattie, eagerly, “and he was very 
particular to ask me not to mention his call, on the 
“wire.” 

“Tdo not suppose he imagined but we would. 
eventually discover the fraud, however; and so we 
should, had not you,” looking rather reproachfully 
at Nattie, “in your haste to drop so undesirable an 
acquaintance, avoided the least hint of the true 
cause. How the dickens was I to know what was 


154 The Broken Circuit Re-united. 





the matter? I puzzled my brains enough over it, I 
assure you.” | 

“And that red-headed eapeeaet has been chuck- 
ling in his sleeve ever since, I suppose,” said Cyn, in- 
dignantly ; then seizing Mr. Stanwood by the arms, 
she cried, in a transport of delight, “and it really 
is true? you are our ‘C?’”’ 

“What! am I not yet believed?” he questioned, 
laughing ; ‘what more shall I do to convince you 
of my identity ? you accepted our red-headed friend 
readily enough !” 

““Oh! I believe you!” cried Nattie, eagerly ; then 
stopped, and colored, abashed at her own-so plainly 
shown delight. 

But Mr. Stanwood looked at her with a gratified 
expression in his brown eyes. 

“And you will not snub me any more, will you?” 
he said, pleadingly ; ‘‘because I never use bear’s 
grease or musk, and my hair isn’t red a bit !” 

“T will try and make amends,” Nattie answered, 
shyly ; adding, “I ought to have known there was 
some mistake. I never could reconcile that creature 
and—and ‘C’!” 

“Then I may flatter myself that I am an im- 
provement?” asked Mr. Stanwood, merrily; at 
which Nattie murmured something about fishing 
for compliments, and Cyn replied gayly, 


The Broken Circuit Re-united. 155 


“Yes; because you have curly hair! You re- 
member what I said on the wire, via Nat?” 

“Could I forget ?” he replied, gallantly. 

“And it isn’t a dream! You are ‘C,’ the real 
‘C,’” replied Cyn, pinching herself, and then 
seizing Nattie, who, from the suddenness of it all 
was yet in a semi-bewildered state—there was not a 
bit of unhappiness in it, though—waltzed ecstat- 
ically around the room, crying, “Oh! I am so 
glad! Iam so glad !” 

At this point Quimby, who, during the preceding 
explanation had listened with a face illustrating 
every variety of consternation and dismay, attracted 
attention to himself by an audible groan, observing 
which, he muttered something about his “ wound” 
——the word had a double meaning for him then, 
poor fellow!—and rising, came forward, took his 
friend by the shoulder, and asked, solemnly, 

“Now, Clem—I—I beg pardon—but is it—is 
this all true, and—and not one of your jokes, you 
know? Honestly, are you that—that ‘C’?” 

“Flere is a doubting Thomas for you!’ cried 
Clem, gayly. “But, upon my word of honor, old 
boy, I truly and honestly am ‘that C,’ and I suppose 
_ you were the ‘other visitor of no consequence,’ who 
called with Miss Archer that day I was favored 


156 The Broken Circuit Re-united. 


by an introduction to her. How little I thought 
it then !” | ; 

“ How little 7 thought it!” groaned Quimby, as 
his hand fell dejectedly from Clem’s shoulder. 
“ But I—I am used to it, you know!” So saying he 
sank intoachair. That 4e had brought about such 
a result as this—that 4e had resurrected the dreaded 
“C” from the grave of musk and bear’s grease was 
too much. 

“But now that all is explained, I am really not 
sorry for the mistake,” Clem said, utterly uncon- 
scious of his friend’s state of mind. “ For, had it 
not been for that I should never have learned, as I 
have to-day, from you two ladies, what a very in- 
teresting and agreeable fellow I am!” and he 
bowed profoundly, with a twinkle of merriment in 
his eyes. 

“Over the wire,” Nattie added, pointedly. 

_ “Of course, over the wire!” he said, with an- 
other bow. “But it shall be my endeavor to make | 
good my reputation, minus the wire !” 

“You will have to work very hard to place Mr. 
Stanwood where ‘ C’ was in our good graces !” said 
Cyn, archly. | 

“Then suppose we drop the Mr. Stanwood, and 
take up Clem, who already was somewhat ad- 
vanced !” he said, adroitly. 


The Broken Circuit Re-united. 157 


“Ah! Clem sounds more natural, doesn’t it, 

Nat?” questioned Cyn laughing; “we know Clem 
_and ‘C,’ but Mr. Stanwood is a stranger!” 

“Then let us drop him by all means! and now 
say you are glad to see your old friend !” said Clem, 
gayly. 

“We are transported with delight at beholding 
our-Clem, so lately given up as lost forever!’ Cyn 
replied with equal gayety ; and Clem, then looking 
at Nattie, as if he expected her to say something 
also, she murmured, 

“T am very glad to meet ‘C,’” a remark that 
sounded cold beside that of enthusiastic Cyn. But 
in fact Nattie was so confused, so happy, and so 
strangely timid, that she longed to get away by her- 
self and think it all over and quietly realize it; and 
besides, in her secret heart, Nattie felt a growing 
conviction that Cyn used the plural pronoun we 
more than previous circumstances actually war- 
ranted. 

“But Nat,’ said Cyn, all unconscious of her — 
friend’s jealous criticism, “you have not yet told 
me how you found him out?” 

“He telegraphed to me with a pencil on the 

- table, and coolly informed me that he was ‘C,’”’ 
Nattie explained. 
“And then you jumped up and threw us uniniti- 


-_ 


158 The Broken Circuit Re-untted. 


ated ones into a great state of alarm,” said Cyn; 
“and instead of practicing for a drum corps, as I 
supposed, you were talking secretly, you sly 
creatures!” then turning to Clem, she asked, 
laughing, “what did you think when Nat drop- 
ped you so suddenly and completely ?” 

“What could I think, except that it was a caprice 
of hers,” he answered, laughimg. ‘ At first lI thought 
she was vexed at my having gone to Ba, but she 
denied that, and finally I believe I became angry 
myself, and concluded to let her have her own way. 
Nevertheless, I could not resist calling to see her, 
when I came to the city, and had I met with any 
encouragement, I should probably have declared 
myself, but I was annihilated without ceremony.” 

“You would not have been, perhaps, had you 
been honest in the first place, instead of asking un- 
necessary questions about tariffs,” replied Nattie. 

“Yes, but you were to recognize me by intuition 
you know, and I wanted to give you a chance,” 
responded Clem, quickly. « 

Nattie looked a trifle abashed. 

“But I am quite sure I should have suspected 
it was you, had I not given you up as hopelessly 
red-headed,” she persisted; “why, almost the very 
first question the creature asked was, ‘do you see 
that twinkle?” 


The Broken Circuit Re-united. 159 


“So he heard and treasured that remark to some 
purpose,” he said; “well, I will not dispute your 
intuition theory, since your last words assure me 
that I do not fall so far short of your imaginary ‘C,.’ 
as did my personator. I imagine your expression of 
countenance, on learning the intelligence, was 
hardly flattering to his vanity.” 

Nattie, who had colored at the first of his re- 
mark, replied contemptuously, 

“His self-conceit was too great to attribute my 
very uncordial reception to anything except, as he 
_ Said, ‘my bashfulness.’ I presume it has afforded 
him great enjoyment to think how successfully he 
stepped into your shoes, and what a joke he had 
played upon me.” 

“Upon ws, you mean,” corrected Clem. 

“Certainly; upon ws,’ Nattie replied, with 
- another flush of color. “I remember how in- 
different he seemed when [| hinted that now we 
had met the chief pleasure of talking on the wire 
was gone. And I believe he didn’t actually say in ~ 
so many words that he was ‘C,’ but left me to un- 
derstand it so.” | | r* 

“And I am indebted to him for being such a 
- lonesome, miserable fellow the latter part of my 
telegraphic career,” said Clem, rather savagely. 

Nattie murmured something about the time pass- 


iv 


160 The Broken Circuit Re-united. 


ing pleasanter when there was some one to talk with, 
and Cyn asked, curiously, 

“Then you have left the dot and dash business, 
have you?” 

“Oh, yes. It was merely temporary with me,” 
Clem replied; then seating himself on the sofa 
beside Nattie, and drawing a chair up for Cyn, be- 
tween himself and Jo—Quimby being at the other 
end of the room, a prey to his emotions—Clem con- 
tinued ; | 

“The truth. of the matter is simply this, my 
father, with a pig-headedness worthy of Eugene 
Wrayburn’s M.R. F.in ‘Our Mutual Friend,’ deter- 
mined to make a doctor of me, not on account of 
any qualifications of mine, but for the simple reason 
that a doctor is a good thing to have in a family. 
But I, having an intense dislike to the smell of 
drugs, a repugnance to knowing anything more 
than absolutely necessary about the ‘ills that flesh is 
heir to,’ and decided objections to having the sleep 
of my future life disturbed, declined, and at the 
same time expressed a desire to go into the store 
with him, and become a merchant. Upon which my 
most immediate ancestor waxed wroth, called me, 
in plain, unvarnished words, a fool; and a pretty 
one I was to set myself up against his will! I, who 
couldn’t earn my salt without him to back me! 


The Broken Circuit Re-united. 161 





Being of a contrary opinion myself, I determined to 
test my abilities in the salt line. I began,” looking 
at Nattie, merrily, “by salting you !”—then explain- 
ing to Cyn, Jo, and the silent Quimby, “ ‘Salt’ isa 
term operators use, when one tries to send faster 
than the other can receive. I began my acquaint- 
ance with N by trying to ‘salt’ her. To go on 
with my narrative, I had learned to telegraph at 
college, where the boys had private wires from 
room to room, and being acquainted with one of 
the managers in our city, succeeded in obtaining 
that very undesirable office down there at Xn, 
where I remained until my stern parent relented, 
concluded to hire a doctor instead of making 
one, and offered me the control of a branch of the 
firm here in your city. And here lam!” 

“And isn’t it strange how you should have 
stumbled upon us, feast and all?’ said Cyn, 
laughing. 

Nattie was again disturbed by the plural pro- 
noun, and also angry at herself for observing it. 

“TIsn’t it?’ Clem answered merrily ; “what a 
lucky fellow I am! You see, not: being at all 
acquainted in the city, I hunted up my old college 
friend Quimby, who asked me to call on some lady 
friends of his, mentioning no names, which of 


course I was only too glad to do! Imagine my sur- 
11 


162 The Broken Circuit Re-united. 


prise and delight when I discovered who those 
friends were! But I don’t know as I should have 
dared to reveal myself, having been so often 
snubbed,”—with a roguish glance at Nattie—“if 
that story had not been told and the mystery 
solved. Imagine my dismay, though, at being 
called an ‘odious creature,’ and the surprise with 
which I listened to my own description! So 
earnest were you, that I actually, for a moment, 
thought my hair must have turned red!” and he ran 
his fingers through his curly locks with a rueful 
face. 

The girls laughed, and Cyn exclaimed, 

“What a pity it is you tore up that picture, 
Nat !” 

“Yes,” acquiesced Nattie, adding, in explanation, 
to Clem—‘“ You remember that pen and ink sketch? 
My first act of vengeance was to destroy it!” 

“Never mind, Jo will do another, will you not?” 
asked Clem, turning to that gentleman, who, upon 
being thus appealed to,. arose, laid down the nut- 
cracker he held, and said with the utmost solem- 
nity, . 

“Jo is ready to draw anything. Sut Jo is 
aghast and horrified at being mixed even in the 
slightest degree with anything so near approach- 
ing the romantic, as the affair in question. What 


The Broken Circuit Re-united. 163 


is the use of a fellow shaving off his hair, I would 
like to know, if such things as these will happen ?” 

“Tt is no use fighting against Nature!” laughed 
Cyn. ‘“ Romance always has been since the world 
was, and always will be, I suppose. Your turn will 
come, Jo! I have no doubt we shall see you a long- 
haired, cadaverous, sentimental artist yet !” 

“ Never !” cried Jo heroically. ‘“ But you must 
confess that this affair is taking undue advantage 
of a fellow. A wired romance is something en- 
tirely unexpected !” 

“And besides, viewed telegraphically, there is 
nothing at all romantic in the whole affair !” said 
Nattie, who, between her confusion at the turn the 
conversation had taken, and her alarm lest some- 
thing should be said about that chubby Cupid— 
whom it will be remembered she had suppressed in 
her former description to “C”’—was decidedly em- 
barrassed. 

Before Jo could express his satisfaction at this 
statement, Clem exclaimed, reproachfully, 

“Oh! do not say that! not even to spare our 
friend’s feelings can I deny the romance of our 
acquaintance.” 


’ 


“I quite agree with you,” said Cyn; “I really 


believe Nat is going over to Jo’s ideas. Never 


164 The Broken Circuit Re-untted. 
mind ! just wait until your turn comes, you unsenti- 
mental Jo.” 

“Madam!” cried Jo, “when I find myself in the 
condition you describe, I will come and place the 


t?? 


disposal of myself in your hands!” and he made her 
a profound bow. 

There is many a true word spoken in jest, and 
none of the little party there assembled imagined 
how true, indeed, these words were to SE as 
Cyn gayly answered, 

“Tt is a bargain, Jo, and I shall have no mercy on 
you, I can assure you.” 

“And we must not forget that we are indebted to 
Quimby for the unraveling of all this mystery,” 
said Nattie. She smiled on him where he sat, in his 
dismayed isolation, as she spoke, and although it 
was the warmest smile she had ever yet bestowed 
upon him, he was rendered no happier by its 
warmth.” 

“Yes, how fortunate it was, Clem, that you 
looked him up!” said Cyn. 

Nattie wondered that she could pronounce the 
familiar name so easily. She was quite sure she 
herself could not. 

“Was it not?’ exclaimed Clem, delightedly ; 
“and what is better than all, I am coming here to 


1”? 


room with him!” At this Jo shook him cordially 


The Broken Circutt Re-united. 165 











by the hand, Cyn and Nattie gave exclamations of 
pleasure, and Quimby suddenly started into life. 
‘“‘J—I] beg pardon,” he said, hastily, “ but I—I really 
—I though you said you had rather be farther down 
town, you know.” 

“Yes, that was my first inclination, but as you 
urged me so much, and as I find so many old friends 
here, I have concluded to accept your offer, my boy, 
so consider the matter settled,” replied Clem. 

And in his own entire satisfaction and uncon- 
sciousness, Clem did not observe but what Quimby 
looked as happy as might be expected, at this intel- 
ligence. 


9) 


“*Oh, won’t we have a jolly time,” sang Cyn, 
and Clem, Nattie and Jo—but not Quimby—took 
up the chorus. | | 
And obtuse as he was, Quimby could not but 
_ observe that Nattie’s eyes were shining in a way he 
had never seen them shine before, that the ever- 
coming and going flush on her cheeks was very 
becoming, and that there was an expfession in her 
face, when she looked at Clem, that face had never 
held for 4zm. Nor could he fail to think, that the 
romantic commencement of the acquaintance of 
these two, even the episode of the musk-scented 
impostor, all now enhanced the interest Nattie had 
once felt for the invisible “C;” neither did he needa 


166 Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffled. 





prophet to tell him that the two girls would sit up 
half the night, talking confidentially over this un- 
expected and happy denouement, or even that: Nattie’s 
sleep would not be quite as sound as usual. 

Love, it is said, is blind. So, to some things, 
perhaps, it is, but never to a rival. 

And when at last Clem tore himself away, with 
the remark, 

“‘What a fortunate day this has been! Quimby, 
my dear boy, how can I thank you? I shall take 
possession of my half of your apartment at once, to 
be sure no one shall again usurp my place; until 
then, az revoir /”’ and, in parting, perceptibly held 
Nattie’s hand longer than was absolutely necessary, 
Quimby followed him with dejected mien, fully 
aware that of all the mistakes he had ever made he 
committed the worst, when he asked his old chum 
to call on some lady friends of his! 





CHAPTER XL 


MISS KLING TELEGRAPHICALLY BAFFLED. 


her mind about this time, not only because 


\ a BETSY KLING was quite uneasy in 





the Torpedo refused to see himself in the 
light of that other self, and fled whenever he saw 


Miss Kling Telegraphically Ba ffied. 167 


her approaching, but also because some subtle in- 
stinct told her, that under her very nose, was going 
on something of which the details were unknown to 
her, and that listen as she would, could not be as- 
certained. This good-looking young man, who had - 
- so suddenly appeared on Mrs. Simonson’s premises, 
who and what was he? From Mrs. Simonson she 
learned that he was an old friend of Quimby’s; 
that she believed he was also an old friend of 
Miss Archer’s, or Miss Rogers’, or of both, and 
that his father was very wealthy, 

“Humph!” said Miss Kling, with a suspicious 
sniffle. “Strange that he should room with Quimby 
if his father is so wealthy? Why does he not have 
a room of his own?” 

“He and Quimby are such friends, you see !” 
Mrs. Simonson explained. 

Miss Kling gave another sniffle, this time of 
contempt, at such a reason being possible. 

“Miss Rogers is in here about all her time when 
she isn’t at the office, is she not?’ was the next 
question. 

“She is very intimate with Miss hots ” Mrs. 
Simonson replied. 

“And I suppose 4e and that Quimby are in 
' there with them every evening, are they not ?” pur- 
sued Miss Kling. 


168 Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffled. 





They called quite often, Mrs. Simonson acknowl- 
edged, as did Mr. Norton, and Miss Fishblate. 

“They seem to have good times, too,” added 
kindly Mrs. Simonson. ‘Young folks will be 
young folks, you know. And why not? Bless 
you! we never can enjoy ourselves again as we do 
when young. There are too many cares and worries 
when we get to our age.” 

Miss Kling rose stiffly; this allusion to “our 
age’ disgusted and offended her beyond pardon, 
and she flew into a spasm of sneezing. 

“Well, I, for one, do not think such conduct is 


proper,” she said, as soon as possible. “I was 
brought up to understand that young ladies should 
never receive the visits of gentlemen except in the 
presence of older people!” 

Mrs. Simonson only laughed a little forced 
laugh she had when she did not know exactly what 
to say. For her own part, although not willing to 
offend Miss Kling by saying so, she was glad to see 
her lodgers enjoying themselves; more than glad 
to have Clem there, as on his arrival she had 
promptly tacked an extra dollar on the room rent, 
under the plea that the wear and tear on furniture 
was greater with two in a room. | 

Miss Kling, fearing, perhaps, another reference 
to “our age,” left her, and next attacked Celeste 


¢ 


Miss Kling Telegraphically Ba ffied. 169 


Fishblate, having long ago discovered Nattie to be 
impregnable to the process known as “pumping,” 
a fact that had augmented her ever-increasing dis- 
like towards her lodger. 

From Celeste, she learned that they had “such 
nice times !” that Mr. Stanwood was “so splendid !” 
and that “ Miss Archer was just dead in love with 
him, and he with her !” 

“Humph!” thought Miss Kling with a sneeze. 
“ It’s that Miss Archer then, is it?” Her next move 
was to arrest poor Quimby in the hall, intending 
to put him through a series of interrogations 
regarding the antecedents of his friend, and the 
length of his acquaintance with Miss Archer. But 
in this she was “baffled, for at the first question, 
Quimby exclaimed, 

“J—J]I don’t know! Don’t ask me!” and fled. 

Miss Kling, much to her dissatisfaction, was 
therefore compelled to make the little she had 
gathered go as far as it would, for the present. 
But she lived in hopes. 

It was perhaps not wonderful, that Miss Kling, 
sitting lonely by her fireside, and pining for her 
other self, should feel envious because her lodger, 
whom she took ostensibly for company, was enjoy- 
‘ing herself over the way evening after evening, and 


I 70 Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffled. 





telling her absolutely nothing about it, but con- 
fining their intercourse to the necessary civilities. | 
Undoubtedly the few weeks that had passed 
since Clem’s appearance on the scene ought to have 
been the happiest in Nattie’s hitherto lonely life, 
happier even than those in which she talked to the 
then unseen “ C,” and speculated about him with 
Cyn. But yet—she ‘sometimes felt that a certain 
something that had been on the wire was lacking 
now ; that Clem, while realizing all her old expec- 
tations of ‘‘C,” was not exactly what “C” had 
been to her. One reason of this she knew was her 
own inability to conquer a sort of timidity she 
felt in his presence, a timidity from which Cyn was 
certainly free. Well aware that beside the gay and 
brilliant Cyn she was nowhere, Nattie had a sensi- 
tive fear that he might be disappointed in her. 
But she did not yet know that the foundation of 
' all these uneasy misgivings of hers was a selfish 
emotion, the same that had prompted: that jealous 
pang at Cyn’s “we” the day he first discovered 
himself, and this was, that on the wire “C”’ had 
been all hers, but in Clem, Cyn seemed to have the 
largest share. | 
Twice he had called on Nattie at the office, but 
neither time could stop, and as it happened on each 
occasion, she was in the midst of a rush of business, 


Miss Kling Telegraphically Ba fied. 171 


that left no chance for conversation. But one rainy 
Saturday afternoon, when a general dullness. pre- 
vailed, and she was fervently wishing the hands of 
the clock might move on faster towards six, Clem, 
holding a very wet umbrella, and with water drip- 
ping from his curly locks, presented himself. If he 
was not, he certainly ought to have been flattered — 
by the blush with which Nattie involuntarily wel- 
comed him. | 

“Did you rain down?” she hastily exclaimed, 
hoping by this trite commonplace to distract atten- 
tion from the blush, of which she was conscious. 

“Tt appears like it, doesn’t it?’ he answered — 
merrily, giving himself a little shake, and placing 
his wet umbrella and hat in a corner. “It was 
so dull at the store, I thought I would run around 
to the scene of former exploits. Do you not some-- 
times wish I was back at X n to keep you company 
such days as these ?” alts 

Without thinking twice before she spoke once, 
Nattie answered candidly, as she placed a chair for 
her visitor, 

' “Yes, I believe I do, often.” 

“T do not know whether to take that as a com- 
pliment or otherwise,” Clem said, looking at her as 
if half vexed. 

Nattie glanced up inquiringly. 


172 Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffled. 


“Tt certainly isa compliment to my abilities for 
making myself agreeable at a distance. But—” said 
Clem, with a shrug of his shoulders, “a poor 
fellow does not like to feel as if the farther away he 
is, the better he is liked!” 

“Oh! I did not mean it that way at all!” ex- 
claimed Nattie, in hasty explanation. “Only, you 
know, I had more of your company on the wire!” 

Clem looked pleased. 

“Tf that is the trouble——” he began, but Nattie 
interrupted, her face very red. 

“TI did not mean that, either; [ meant it was in 
such a different way, you know—-and I—TI could 
talk more easily, and—I do not believe I know what 
I do mean !” stopping short in embarrassment. 

Clem looked at her and smiled. 

“Let us see if it is any easier talking on the 
wire,’ he said; and taking the key, he wrote, 

“Good P m, will you please tell me truly, and 
relieve my mind, if you like me as well as you 
thought you would?” 

Taking the key he relinquished, and without 
looking at him, she replied, ‘‘Yes; and suppose I 
ask you the same question, what would you say, 
politeness aside?” 

“JT should answer,” wrote Clem, his eyes on the 


Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffled. 173 


sounder, “that I have found the very little girl I 
expected !” | 

And then their eyes met, and Nattie hastily rose 
and walked to the window, for no ostensible pur- 
pose, and Clem said, going after her, 

“Tt zs nicer talking on the wire, isn’t it ?” 

Nattie was saved the necessity of replying by 
some one down the line who just then inquired, 

“Who was that talking soft nonsense just now? 
We don’t allow that sort of thing here!” 

“Flow impertinent !”’ exclaimed Nattie. 

“Possibly our red-headed friend is somewhere 
about,” Clem said; then taking the key, responded 
to the unknown questioner, 

“Don’t trouble yourself; I shall not talk soft 
nonsense to you!” 

“That sounds lke ‘C’s’ writing! Is it?” was 
asked quickly. 

‘My style must be very peculiar to be so readily 
detected,” Clem said to Nattie, laughingly ; then re- 
plied on the wire,“ If you will sign I will tell you.” 

“Em,” 

“Ah!” said Clem, and immediately acknowl- 
edged himself. Then followed a short chat with 
“Km,” in which she endeavored to make hiin con- 
fess what office he was then sending from, which he 
persistently refused to do. 


174 Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffted. 


Having bade “Em” good-by, and closed the key, 
he said to Nattie, verbally, ““We ought to have a 
private wire of our own, since a wire is so necessary 
to our happiness! TI see,” glancing around the 
office, “that you have an extra key and sounder 
herex! 

“Yes ;” Nattie replied, ‘we had at one time a 
railroad wire, and when it was taken out, the 
instruments were left, and have been here ever 
since.” 

‘“‘Do you suppose you could take them home—to 
practice on, say?” queried Clem, a sparkle in his 
brown eyes. 

“ Doubtless, if I asked permission, they would 
allow me that privilege; why?’ asked Nattie, 
curiously. . 

“T have a brilliant idea!” replied Clem, gayly. 
“But do not be alarmed, I am used to it, as Quimby 
would say; it is this. I myself have a key and 
sounder, relics of college days, beauties, too, and 
if you can take home those over there, we will have 
telegraphic communication from your room to ours, 
immediately. The wire and battery I will fix all 
right, and when Cyn is out, and you can’t come 
over, and at odd times, we will have some of our old 
chats.” | 


“But,” said Nattie, hesitatingly, although evi- 





Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffled. 175 





dently delighted with the idea, “Miss Kling will 


” 


never 





“Hang Miss Kling!” interrupted Clem, em- 
phatically ; “excuse the expression, but she deserves 
it ; she never need know. I will undertake to ar- 
range everything, and keep the secret from her. To 
account for the instruments in your room, tell her 
you are going to practice at home, and have a pupil. 
Cyn, I know, will be delighted to amuse herself by 
learning.” 

“J should lke it very much,” acknowledged 
Nattie, ‘‘ but——” 

“TI allow no buts,” Clem interrupted with gay 
decision; “you get the instruments, tell me the 
first time Miss Kling goes out to spend the day, and 
leave the rest to me.” 

Nattie needed little urging, being only too willing 
to have some more of those old confidential chats 
with(°C,” 


quired promise was given. 





which zobody could share—and the re- 


Strange it is, how circumstances alter cases. 
Coming to the office that morning, Nattie had found 
it disagreeable and hard enough to buffet the storm, 
and had growled at herself all the way, because she 
_ was not smart enough to get on in the world, even 
so far as to be able to stay at home in such weather. 
For storms of nature, like storms of life, are hardest 


Ro igD Wiss Kling Telegraphically Baffted. 





to a woman, trammeled as she is in the one by long 
skirts, that will drag in the mud, and clothes that 
every: gust of wind catches, and in the other by 
prejudices and impediments of every kind, that the 
world, in consideration, doubtless, for her so-called 
“ weakness,” throws in her way. But now, on her 
way home, Nattie minded not the wind, and rather 
enjoyed the rain ; it may be that this total change in 
her sentiments was due to the fact that Clem held 
the umbrella. 

Miss Kling saw them come into the hotel to- 
gether, wet and merry, and scowled. Perhaps in 
former days she had gone home under an umbrella 
with somebody—a possible other self—and so knew 
all about the enjoyability of the experience. But 
Nattie did not even notice her landlady’s acrimoni- 
ous glance, and sang a gay song as she changed 
her bedrabbled dress. 

Cyn, who was of course immediately informed 
about the projected private wire, was delighted 
with the idea, and began studying the Morse alpha- 
bet at once. | 

“And the best of all is that we are going to get 
the better of that argus-eyed Dragon !” said Cyn. 

“Tf we can!” Nattie replied with emphasis. 

“Oh! but Clem is sure of that part!” Cyn said 
with great confidence. 


Miss Kling Telegraphically Ba ffted. 177 


But Nattie shook her head dubiously. 

“She is so inquisitive !” she remarked. 

“Yes, and the most despicable character on earth: 
to me, is a person whose chief object in life is 
gossip! why, life is too short to take care of our 
own affairs in! I wish you would leave her, and 
come and room with me!” exclaimed Cyn indig- 
nantly. 

““Mrs. Simonson would not dare have me. She 
is afraid of Miss Kling, you know. But I wish I 
might, for I am tired of being here,’”’ Nattie replied 
discontentedly. 

“ Well, we will have our wire at all events, and 
for once something shall be that Miss Kling will 
not know,” said Cyn exultantly. 

Unconsciously the dreaded individual favored 
them, shortly after, by going to spend the evening 
with friends after her own heart—very genteel, but 
in reduced circumstances—and as the instruments 
were all reidy, and they had only been waiting for 
her absence, Clem went to work. He was assisted 
by the willing Jo, who argued that running a wire 
was solid work, and zo¢ romantic, and by Quimby, — 
who viewed the arrangement as another formidable 
link in the chain of his rival, and clamored wildly 
for a “telephone,” because “anybody could use a 
telephone.” But that, as Clem said, was exactly 
12 


178 Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffled. 


what they did not want ! Consequently, Quimby, as 
he lent his aid, felt himself a very martyr. How- 
ever, he was, by this time, “used to it, you know,” 
—as he would have said—having viewed himself in 
that light since his unwitting resurrection of “C.” 
Still, he sometimes fancied he saw a dim light 
shining ahead through the gloom—a hope that 
Clem might be fascinated by Cyn. Many were, 
Quimby argued, so why should not Clem be? and 
certainly he talked with her more than he did with 
Nattie ! 

In Nattie’s room, they placed the instruments on 
a small shelf put up for the purpose, just outside 
her closet, and run the wire through the closet into 
the hall outside, and thence along, so close to the 
wall that it was not noticeable, except to those who 
knew, and then into Mrs. Simonson’s apartments. 
Here, no concealment was necessary, as Mrs. 
Simonson had been informed of the plan, and, 
although trembling lest the vials of Miss Kling’s 
wrath would be poured on her head, should that 
lady discover the arrangement, had no objections to 
offer, if they were positive “the electricity on the 
wire would not wear out the carpet, or injure the 
table ’’—which was the terminus in Quimby and 
Clem’s room. | 

Having satisfied her on this point, they deemed it 


Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffled. 179 


expedient not to show her the battery in their closet, 
fearrng alarm lest it might eat through the room 
and overpower her. 7 

“And now,” said Clem, gayly, when all was 
finished, and fortunately without attracting atten- 
tion, not even Celeste being in the secret; “now, 
Quimby, we can dispense with that alarm clock we 
were intending to buy.” . 

“I—I beg pardon, but I—I don’t quite catch 
your meaning,’ the martyr replied, in evident 
surprise. 

“Why, Nat is to be our alarm clock !” explained 
Clem, laughing. “She is, from necessity, an early 
riser, and I shall depend on her to call on our wire 
at precisely six thirty every morning, and continue 
calling until I answer.” 

“IT certainly will,” Nattie replied. “But I will 
venture to predict that both you and Quimby will 
privately call me all sorts of names for doing it. It 
makes people so very cross to be aroused from a 
morning nap, you know !” 

“It doesn’t make me cross, I—I assure you; it— : 
it will be a pleasure!” quickly exclaimed Quimby, 
who was delighted with this idea of the alarm clock. 

“YT -will report him if he shows the least symp- 
tom of growling, after that assertion !’”’ Clem said to 
Nattic, somewhat to Quimby’s internal agitation, 


180 Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffied. 


for, to tell-the truth, he was not really quite certain 
of being in a state of rapture at six thirty every 
morning, even when awoke by the clatter of a 
sounder, of which the motive power was his in- 
namorata. 

‘‘And now, to christen our wire!” Nattie, who 
was in high spirits, said gayly, and she ran over to 
her room, anda half hour’s chat with ‘‘C” followed 
before she went to bed. For a week after, however, 
she lived, as it were, on thorns, and came home 
every night half expecting an explosion. 

None came, however. Miss Kling’s eyes were 
not as good as they once had been, what with their 
long service watching for that other self, and over- 
looking her neighbors; the hall was dark; she 
had no duplicate key to Nattie’s always-locked 
room ; and the small wire, nestling close to the wall, 
was undiscovered ; of course, she heard the clatter 
of the sounder, but this Nattie explained on the 
score of ‘ practice.” 

“Well, Iam sure!” said Miss Kling, ane 
“‘T should think you would get ‘practice’ enough at 
the office, without sitting up nights to do it !” 

At which Nattie turned away to hide a blush, 
aware that “C” and she sometimes talked even into 
the small hours, in their zeal, doubtless, that the 
new wire should not rust out for lack of using. 


Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffled. 18 





But this telegraphic arrangement came hardest 
on poor Quimby, who, between his jealousy when 
the two were communicating, his inability to under- 
stand what was being said, and the impossibility of 
sleeping with such a clatter in the room, lost his 
appetite, and invoked anything but blessings on the 
head of “that Morse man,” who had made such 
things possible. | 

Cyn had no intention of being left out in the 
cold, and making Jo join her, began the study of 
telegraphy, and the two hammered away incessantly. 
‘It began to be observable, about this time, that Jo 
was very willing to be led about by the nose by Cyn. 
Why, was not so apparent; perhaps because there 
was no romance in it. 

Cyn learned the quicker of the two, and she was 
soon able, slowly and uncertainly, to “call” Nattie, 
ask her to come over, or impart any little informa- 
tion, but was always driven frantic by the attempt to 
make out Nattie’s reply, however slowly written. 
Cyn tried to induce Quimby to overcome the horrors 
of those little black marks, the alphabet and their 
sounds, but he recoiled from the effort as hopeless. 

However, whenever they made candy, as they 
often did, he had an opportunity of distinguishing 
himself, that he did not fail to improve. On the 
first occasion, so uneasy was he about a quiet con- 


182 Miss Kling Telegraphically Baffted. 


versation Clem and Nattie were having, that he 
absently put the mass of candy he had been pulling, 
into his pocket to cool. It dd cool, but he sold the 
coat afterwards, to a boy at the office. 

Next time, he forgot to grease his hands, and 
_ stuck himself so together, that they had the utmost 
difficulty in getting him apart, but, as he said, 

“It’s no matter, I—I am used to it, you know!” 

He capped the climax, however, by accidentally 
dropping a large handful, warm, on top of Celeste’s 
head, aggravating the offense by telling her to “go 
quick and soak her head ;” which, although it was 
what she eventually did, was too much like a certain 
slang phrase much in vogue, for human nature to 
endure ; and giving him an angry look, the only one 
on record ever given by her to aman, she rushed from 
the room, and was seen no more that evening. 

After this exploit, whenever molasses candy was 
on the programme, they made a rule that Quimby 
should sit in the corner, on the old familiar stool, and 
not move until all was over—a rule to which he 
submitted meekly. 

But he was not happy. In truth, all his joys 
in these days were mixed with alloy, between the 
pointed monopoly of Celeste—who, of late, and 
since she had given up every one else as hopeless, 


Miss Kling Telegraphically Ba fied. 183. 
had devoted herself entirely to him—and his secret 
jealousy of Clem. 

- Strangely enough, with the exception cf Cyn, no 
one was aware of the exact state of his mind. Clem 
was as unconscious of it as a child, for any pecu- 
liarity in his behavior was laid to his well-known 
idiosyncrasies ; Celeste suspected he was in love, 
but was blindly determined to believe she was the 
chief attraction in his eyes. Nattie, if she thought 
about it at all, imagined he was entirely cured of 
that former. “foolishness,” as she termed his one 
attempt to put his devotion into words. And as for 
Jo, being so opposed to anything of a sentimental 
nature himself, naturally he was unwilling to ob- 
serve any indications of the kind in another, and 
any glaring revelations that forced themselves on 
his notice, he, in common with Clem, decided was 
“only Quimby’s way.” | 

Oh, no! Jo could not see nothing but plain 

unromantic facts. It was no sentiment, or any- 
thing of the sort on Jo’s part, of course, that made 
him reproduce the handsome, brilliant face of Cyn, . 
in so many of his recent pictures. Oh, no! she was 
a good “study,” that was all! Nor that caused him 
to seek her society in preference to all others, to 
listen entranced when she sang, and to be exceed- 


ingly annoyed—a rare thing once for good-humored 


184 Miss Kling Telegraphically Ba fled. 


Se 





-Jo—when Clem was given more than his share of her 
attention. Again oh, no! Cyn was a fellow Bohe- 
mian, a congenial spirit, that was all. Neither in 
the least sentimental or jealous was Jo! 

But for all that, and for some unexplained 
reason, he was not quite so even in his spirits as he 
was wont to be, sometimes being very happy, and 
then terribly depressed. Did he eat too much, or 
too little, which? For if it was not the first com- 
mencement of a first love—and of course it was 
not—it must have been his digestion that ailed 
him ! 

Had Miss Betsey Kling known of these little 
uneasy undercurrents amidst the gayety that so 
annoyed her, the knowledge would doubtless have 
given her much satisfaction, besides, possibly, the 
inkling she could not now obtain of what was 
“going on.” It was a source of great distress to 
her that she could not ascertain whether it was Cyn 
or Nattie with whom Clem was “flirting.” For she 
was positive he was trifling with the affections of 
one or the other, and that matters would end in 
some kindof a horrible scandal. But for all her 
listening and prying around, she could not seem to 
gain much information, except that everybody but 
herself—and perhaps the old gentleman Fishblate— 
was having a good time. Nor could she get hold of 


Crosses on the Line. 185 


anything “dreadful,” which was the greatest disap- 
pointment of all. 

One night, however, listening at her own door as 
Nattie bade Cyn “good night,” over the way, Miss 
Kling heard Clem call out from within, something 
that made her very hair stand on end. It was this: 

“Please wake me up earlier than usual to-morrow 
morning, will you, Nattie?” | 

“Wake him up, indeed!” thought the outraged 
but happy Miss Kling, as she wended her way back 
to her ownroom. “Pretty goings on! and I knowl 
heard that machine clatter when she was not in, one 
day! Machines do not clatter without a human agency 
somewhere! There is something wrong here! and I 
will find it out, or my name is not Betsey Kling! 
‘Wake him up,’ indeed !” 


CHAPTER XII. 
CROSSES ON THE LINE. 


qi I happened that not long after Cyn sang at 
| a concert given in one of the principal halls | 





of the city. Of course, a party from the Hotel 
“Norman attended. This party consisted not only 


186 . Crosses on the Line. 


of all the young people, but also included Mrs. 
Simonson. 

Cyn made a great success, and was encored every 
time she sang. Never had Nattie so fully realized 
the beauty and brilliancy of her friend, as she cid 
upon that evening. Nor could she fail to observe 
that Clem, too, was startled into a new admiration. 
Was it because of this that a seriousness, quite 
foreign to the gay scene, fell over Nattie’s face? 

As for Celeste, she was decidedly envious, and 
had there been no gentlemen in the party, would 
have turned exceedingly glum. As it was, she, with 
some difficulty, called up her usual smiles, and con- 
tented herself with whispering spitefully to Quimby, 

“How can she appear before the public so? it 
seems so unwomanly !” 

“Charming, indeed!” replied Quimby, without 
the slightest idea of what she had said, as his atten- 
tion was concentrated on Cyn, and his brain incapa- 
ble of entertaining two ideas at once. 

But while acknowledging her attractions, Quimby 
preserved his composure, arguing to himself in a 
common sense way, : 

“ What is the use of a fellow falling in love with 
a girl that every other fellow is sure to fall in love 
with too, you know?” 

Mrs. Simonson, good soul, quite swelled with 


Crosses on the Line. 187 


pride in her lodger, and by her behavior created the 
impression in the minds of people sitting near, that 
she was the singer’s mother. 

And Jo—unsentimental Jo—was entirely carried 
away. With the music, of course, for music was 
art, and art, only in another branch, was his life 
and work; and was not Cyn a beautiful work of 
Nature, the mother of all art? 

“He will be a very lucky man who shall call our 
Cyn his,” whispered Clem to Jo, as she came out in 
answer to an encore. 

“What!” ejaculated Jo, so savagely that every 
one turned to look at him, and Clem opened his 
eyes wide with surprise. “Bah! Nonsense!” 

And some way or other, after this, the music 
sounded very dismal to Jo, and the close air of the 
room made his head ache; but he had been working 
very hard all day, and was tired, so this was quite 
natural. 

Was Clem presuming on his good looks, and 
thinking of making-Cyn Azs, he wondered? If he 
was, she certainly would not be fool enough to—Jo 
stopped here in his meditations, because he would 
like to have been a little surer that she would not. 
Very strongly he felt just then that “things of a 
doubtful nature were sometimes very uncertain !” 


It was, of course, no sentiment on his part 


188 Crosses on the Line. 


that caused these emotions. He did not wish Cyn 
to throw herself away in matrimony, that was all ; 
and so strong were his feelings on this point that he 
could not banish the idea from his mind all the rest 
of the evening, and was noticeably thoughtful. 

But he was very gay; even unusually, wildly gay 
on the way home, and kept Mrs. Simonson, whom he 
escorted, in sucha state of laughter that she burst 
three buttons, and was all “ wheezed up” when they 
reached the hotel. | 

“Why are you so thoughtful to-night?’ Clem 

-asked Nattie, as they walked down their street 
behind the rest, in the wake of Jo’s gayety and 
Celeste’s meaningless giggle. Celeste wasclinging 
to the arm of the unwilling, but helpless Quimby, 
and chatting of the handsome tenor. 

‘With a slight start, Nattie replied to Clem’s 
question, 

“Tdo not know. AmI?” 

“Yes; you have hardly spoken a word all the 
way. Is anything the trouble?’ asked Clem, and 
she, looking moodily on the ground, did not see the 
anxiety in his eyes as he spoke. 

“ Nothing !”’ she replied; then startled him by 
bursting out passionately, 

“Tam tired of living with no object; with no- 
thing but a daily routine. Can it be there is no 


Crosses on the Line. 189 


better place in the world for me? That my life 
must be always thus? I caznot be contented !” 


Clem stopped short and stared at her agitated 
face. 


“T never knew you were not happy, Nattie,” he 
said, gently. 

“Oh! I am not unhappy; I am only discon- 
tented,” Nattie replied. ; 

“You are somewhat contradictory in your state- 
ments,” said Clem, as they went on again, for she 
also had stopped. ‘‘Is it office troubles that annoy 
you? Poor little girl, it zs a monotonous life !” 

Nattie flushed at the tenderness in his voice. 

“That is one thing,’ she replied, a little trem- 
blingly, “but I want something to work for, as Cyn 
has. I am ambitious; my present position can never 
content me; I am haunted all the time by an uneasy 
consciousness that if I was smart I should be doing 
something to get ahead; and yet, I don’t know what 
to do !’’ 

“T remember you once said something about 
becoming a writer; why not try that?’ suggested 
Clem. 

They had reached their own landing at the hotel, 
and paused. The remainder of the party had dis- 
appeared, 


190 Crosses on the Line. 


“Tt seems so hopeless,” Nattie answered, dispirit- 
edly ; “there is no opening anywhere.” 

“But it will never do to wait for that, you know. 
If the world is a closed oyster, we must open it. 
Isn’t that the way Cyn did?” said Clem, half sur- 
mising the realization of the difference between 
Cyn’s brilliant success and her own plodding along 
that had caused her dejection; and as he spoke, he 
took her hand in his, but Nattie snatched it quickly 
away. 

“Ah! Cyn!” she said in sudden and uncontrol- 
lable jealousy, “of course you could never expect me 
to compare with her!” 

Clem looked at her a moment, then some 
emotion flushed his face, and he would have spoken 
had not Miss Kling, disgusted with her inability to 
catch a word from inside, opened her door, saying 
sharply, 

“Are you coming in, Miss Rogers?” 

“Certainly,” Nattie replied quickly, and already 
ashamed of her jealous outburst. “Good night, 
Clem.” 

“But will you not come over and congratulate 
Cyn on her success?” he asked, detaining her. “TI 
heard a carriage just stop, and think she is in it.” 

‘Not to-night ; to-morrow,” said Nattie, hastily, 
and left him before he could again urge the request. 


Crosses on the Line. IQI 


“Oh!” said Miss Kling, as Nattie closed the 
door behind her, ‘was that Mr. Stanwood who came 
home with you?” 

“Yes ;” Nattie answered, briefly. 

“YT should hardly have thought Miss Archer 
would have .allowed it!” remarked Miss Kling, 
with a sneeze. 

“YT don’t know why she should have forbidden 
it!” replied Nattie, coldly, yet looking somewhat 
startled. Poor Nattie’s nerves were decidedly un- 
strung to-night. 

“You do not mean to say that you are igno- 
rant of what every one else knows?” queried Miss 
Kling, with a malicious sparkle in her eyes; 
“that they are just the same as engaged.” 

Nattie turned a very pale face towards her. 

“I—I think you are mistaken,” she faltered. 

“*Mistaken ! no indeed!” said Miss Kling, posi- 
tively ; “I should think your own eyes might tell 
you that! Why, Mrs. Simonson says, Miss Archer 
has thought of nobody but him since he came into 
the house, and that anybody can tell he is in love 
with her, from his actions and the attentions he pays 
her, and Celeste told me the same thing, long ago. 
But I suppose Miss Archer is willing he should 
come home with you. She isn’t, of course, jealous 
of you !” 


192 Crosses on the Line. 


There was a sneering emphasis in Miss Kling’s 
last words, that made them anything but compli- 
mentary, as Nattie felt; but saying only, in a voice 
she vainly tried to steady, 

“You may be right,” she went into her own room, 
and locked the door behind her. 

She knew now! knew what that first romantic 
acquaintance, that dejection at the companionship 
lost in the obnoxious red-head, that joy when “C” 
was restored to her in Clem, that unsatisfied desire 
to have him back on the wire, all to herself ; that 
suppressed jealousy of Cyn, led to—and what it all 
meant; that she loved him ! and he, did he, as they 
said, love Cyn? alas! who could help loving bright, 
beautiful Cyn? To attract him to herself was only 
the romance of their first acquaintance—and even 
this Cyn slightly shared; it was not Cyn’s fault. 
Nattie could not be guilty of the petty meanness of 
disliking her friend because she possessed attrac- 
tions superior to her own. But if he loved Cyn, 
then, indeed, had the curtain fallen on the sad end- 
ing of her romance; the lights were out, and all 
was darkness. /f he loved Cyn? Nattie, with the 
first full knowledge of her own feelings, could 
hardly hope otherwise, remembering their intimacy, 
his marked attention to her, his praise of her, and 
her winning beauty and talents. Yes, it must be 


Crosses on the Line. 193 


that he loved her! Oh, why must Cyn be given 
everything, and she—nothing? What kind of fate 
was it that marked out the broad, sunny road for 
one, and the somber, uneven pathway for another? 
Must her life be one of lonely discontent, a telegraph 
office at the beginning, and a telegraph office at the 
end? was this to be all? 

“No!” thought Nattie, raising her head proud- 
ly, and looking at the red and swollen eyes 
that gazed at her from the opposite glass. “ Life 
shall give me something of its best ; if not of love, | 
then of fame! and I will work and persevere until 
I gain it !” 

Yet, for all of her resolution, Nattie sobbed her- 
self to sleep. Not so easy is it to renounce love, 
and look forward to a life barren of its best and 
sweetest gift. 3 

And after this there was a change in her observ- 
able even to the undiscerning Quimby. Shadows 
had fallen over her face, lurked in her gray eyes 
and around the corners of her mouth. The old 
restlessness had given place to a settled gloom. | 
She was less often seen among the gay circle that 
gathered in Cyn’s parlor, pleading every possible 
_ excuse for staying away, and when with them, to 
his surprise and delight, and to Celeste’s dismay, 
she devoted herself to Quimby, to Jo—to any one 

13 


194 Crosses on the Line. 


rather than to Clem. For most of all had she 
changed to him. Afraid of betraying her secret, 
and unable to control the pain that overpowered her 
when in his presence, now she knew her own heart, 
she avoided him in every practicable way, and sel- 
dom, even over their wire, talked with him. She 
was always “tired,” or “busy,” when he called her 
now. 

Clem, surprised and puzzled by this unaccount- 
able change, at first endeavored to overcome her 
coolness, but ended by becoming cool in his turn, 
and talked and joked with Cyn more than ever. 
And if a touch of the shadows on Nattie’s face 
sometimes crept over his own, she, in her self- 
engrossment, did not observe it. 

If Quimby’s hopes burned brighter at this state of 
affairs, and he was consequently happier, Jo, for 
some reason unexplained, was not. In fact, he was 
decidedly queer; now gay, now horribly cynical, 
not to say morose. 

Truly, Cupid, viewed in the character of a tele- 
graphist, was far from being a success; for he had 
switched everybody off on to the wrong wire! 

Cyn, gay unconscious Cyn, no more dreamed of 
Clem being supposedly in love with her, than she 
did that Jo was so filled with thoughts of her, that, 
had he been a different kind of a man, one would 


Crosses on the Line. 195 


have called him desperately in love. But Cyn, un- 
conscious of all this, saw, and with sorrow, the 
ever-increasing coldness between Nattie and Clem. 
For she had quite set her heart on the romance that 
had commenced in dots and dashes culminating in 
orange blossoms—a Wired Love. But now, to her 
vexation, she saw her anticipations liable to be set at 
naught, and herself unable to obtain even a clew to 
the trouble. Like the “line man,” who goes up 
and down to find why the wires will not work, she 
could not find the “break ’”’ anywhere, and decided 
that romances, whether “wired” or taken in the 
ordinary way, were certainly very unwieldy things 
to manage. 

“It seems to me that you do not use that wire 
very often now,” she said one evening to Clem and 
Nattie, the latter of whom she had forcibly dragged 
forth from the solitude of her room. ‘ Were it 
not for me, it would rust. Why! I used to hear 
your clatter into the small hours, but now . 





“ Now we are more sensible,” concluded Nattie, 
leaning over the piano to look at some music. 
“One gets tired of talking in dots and dashes after 
a time !’” 

Poor Nattie’s trouble made her bitter some- 
times. 


“Yes, one wants a person they don’t know to 


196 Crosses on the Line. 


talk with, in order to make it interesting !”’ added 
Clem, not to be outdone. 

“Good gracious!” thought Cyn, dismayed at 
the result of her probing. “This is really dread- 
ful !’ then she exclaimed impulsively, 

“T hope you have not quarreled, you two !” 

“Oh! dear no!” replied Nattie quickly, “ what 
should we quarrel about ?” 

But Clem, after looking at her a moment, ad- 
vanced and held out his hand, saying frankly, 

“I believe we have been cross to each other of 
late, although how it happened I do not know! So 
let us make up and be good !” 

Cyn looked up hopefully at this, but Nattie, who 
could hardly conceal her agitation, replied coldly, 

“I do not see that anything has been the 
matter!” and placing a limp hand in his for an 
instant, turned away. 

Clem bit his lip, then took out his watch, saying, 

~“T believe I have an engagement down town 
this evening. I shall have to leave you now, I 
| teat, ladies.” | 

Nattie celebrated his departure by bursting into 
tears that she vainly tried to hide, and was detected 
in this situation on the sofa by Cyn. 

Cyn’s arms were about her in a moment, and 
Cyn’s voice said lovingly, 


Crosses on the Line. 197 


“What is it, dear? Tell me what is the matter 
lately? Trust me with it. Is it about Clem ?” 

With a determination, very brave and unselfish, 
but unfortunately entirely uncalled for, not to mar 
Cyn’s happy love by her sorrow, Nattie checked 
the tears, of which she was ashamed, and answered, 

“No! Iam very weak and foolish. The idea of 
my crying like a school-girl! Iam only unhappy 
because—because—I am nobody !” 

And this was all the information the sympa- 
thetic and perplexed Cyn could obtain. 

Sitting that night on a low cricket before the 
fire with her dark hair unbound—and it was fortu- 
nate for Jo’s peace of mind that he could not see 
her just then, becauses she was such an interesting 
“study !’—Cyn thought it all over, and could not, 
as she told herself, make out what it was all about. 

“T thought everything was going on so smoothly,” 
she mused, “and now here is what Clem himself 
would term a cross on the wire! and no one can 
find out where it is! Doesn’t she love him, I won- 
der? I should, if Iwas she! Does he love her? if he 
does not, he is no kind of a hero! Ah! I know 
what would test the matter! a crisis! Now, for 
instance, if the house would only get on fire, and 


and Clem save her 





Nat burn up—that is, almost 
just in time—that is the sort of thing that brings 


198 The Wrong Woman. 


these heroes to terms in the dramas ! but I suppose— 
everything is so different in real life—Clem would 
not wake up in time, and she would burn to a crisp 
—or some one else would save her first—Quimby, 
for instance, he is always doing something he ought 
not! no, I don’t think it would do to risk it! never- 
theless, I am convinced that a crisis is what is 
essential to complete the circuit, telegraphically 
speaking, or in other words, to bring down the 
curtain on every body, embracing everybody, with 
great eclat!” 





CHAPTER XIII. 
THE WRONG WOMAN. 


& OMEWHAT exultant over the new aspect of 
y) affairs, and unable longer to endure the strain 
of the load of love he was carrying about 
with him, Quimby came to a desperate determination. 

This was no other, than to confide in his room- 
mate, and once dreaded rival, and then, provided 
he was not thrown out of the window, or kicked 
down stairs, ask his advice about how to render 
himself clearly understood by Her, at the same time 
relating his former unfortunate attempt. 


This programme he carried into effect one morn- 





The Wrong Woman. 199 © 


ing, as Clem was blacking his boots. Perhaps he 
had made private calculations on a blacking-brush 
hitting a man with less damage than some larger 
article. 

“Tsay, Clem!” Quimby began, “ I—I want to ask 
your advice, you know !” 

‘“T am at your service, my dear boy,” replied the 
unsuspecting Clem, rubbing away at his boot. 

“ Well—I—I want to know—the fact is, I—I am 
boiling over with love !” 

“What !” exclaimed Clem, looking up with an 
amused smile, “you are not in love with Cyn too, 
are you?” 

“With Cyn, Zoo?” These words were balm to 
the soul of Quimby, and gave him courage to 
answer eagerly, 

“Ah! no use in that for me, you know! It— 
it is ske—Miss Rogers—Nattie—you know !” 

The blacking-brush left Clem’s hand, but not to 
fly at the expectant Quimby. It simply dropped 


onto the floor, while Clem gave vent to his feelings 


in a prolonged whistle. 

“Ts it possible!’ he said, having thus relieved 
himself of his first astonishment. “I might have 
suspected as much if I had stopped to think, 
though !” 

“Yes, I—I think I showed it plain enough, you 


200 The Wrong Woman. 


know !” said Quimby candidly. ‘‘ You see, I—I tried 
to tell her of it once, before you came here, when 
you were invisible, you know, but some way she— 
she didn’t just understand, and—and bolted, you 
know! So just tell me how to do it, that is a good 
fellow, for do it I must !” 

Clem picked up his blacking-brush, and very 
deliberately smeared the boot he had just polished, 
with another coat of blacking, before answering. 

“How can I tell you?’ he said at last. ‘“ You 
don’t suppose proposing is an every-day habit of 
mine, do you? My dear boy, I never proposed in 
my life !” 

“But you—you ought to—I mean you will 
sometime, you know! Just give me a—a start, you 
know!” pleaded Quimby, sitting down on the edge 
of the bed. 

“Shall I call her and propose for you?” inquired 
Clem, somewhat ironically, and glancing at the 
sounder. 
 “No—no—I—Wo!” cried Quimby in great alarm 
at this proposition. “She might think you meant 
yourself, you know !” 

“In which case the rejection would be sure!” 
said Clem. Then flinging his brush savagely into 
a corner, he added as he went out, 

‘‘You must settle it yourself, old fellow! No 


The Wrong Woman. 201 


one can help us in those matters. There is no 
duplex !” 

Quimby was therefore left to his own devices ; 
and his own devices brought about a most extraor- 
_ dinary result. 

That same evening, Nattie coming over to Cyn’s 
room, and finding her absent, sat down to await her 
return, which Mrs. Simonson assured her would be 
very soon. There was no gas lighted, and in the 
dusk Nattie remained, feeling, perhaps, an affinity 
with the somber shadows of the twilight. As she 
sat musing, now wishing “C”’ had left her life for- 
ever when he left it with the odors of musx and 
bear’s-grease about him, and now despising herself. 
for the weakness she found it so hard to overcome, 
she became conscious of a denser shadow in the 
shadows of the open door. 

“I—I beg pardon. Is it Cyn?” asked this 
shadow, in the voice of Quimby. 

“No,” Nattie replied, ‘“‘ Cyn is out.” 

“I—I beg pardon. Is it you ?” the shadow asked 
with accents of delight. 

Nattie acknowledged the “ you.” 

“ And you—you are alone?” 

Nattie glanced around the room hoping the 
Duchess had strayed in, so she might truthfully 


202 The Wrong Woman. 


say no. But she was compelled to reply in the 
affirmative. , 

“Glorious opportunity —I—it must not be 
wasted! I—I will explain, you know!” he ex- 
claimed, excitedly and incoherently. But to 
Nattie’s surprise, instead of entering, he darted 
away in such a tremendous hurry that he stumbled 
and fell, and she distinctly heard his skull bang 
against his own door. 

But his last words were too ominous, and she 
was too well acquainted with his peculiarities to 
flatter herself she was permanently relieved of his 
company. He had perhaps gone to brush his hair, 
or take some quieting drops, but she knew he had 
_ certainly not gone to stay, and not being exactly 
in the humor for his company, Nattie resolved 
to fly ignominiously. Afraid of returning to her 
own room, lest she might meet him and be taken 
captive, she quietly retired into Cyn’s bed-room. 
In a few moments she heard him stumbling over a 
stool in the parlor, and was just thinking that if he 
should take it into his head to remain any length of 
time, she would be in rather a predicament, when to 
her surprise she heard him say, 

“I—I must speak! I—I hope this time I shall 
remember what I have so often—so often said in the 
privacy of my own apartment, to—if I may confess 


The Wrong Woman. 203 


it—to a pillow—a pair of pants and a coat—placed 
in a chair as a poor effigy of—of you, you know! 
Will you—will you—don’t speak, but let me alone, 
hear me and let the—the flow of language come !” 

He paused, and in the greatest bewilderment, 
Nattie stared at the opposite wall. Did he by some 
powerful intuition discern she was within hearing 
distance, or was he in his disappointment rehears- 
ing to her empty chair? Before Nattie could 
decide between these two solutions of his conduct, 
another voice, the voice of Celeste, said faintly and 
affectedly, 

“Oh, Quimby !” 

And then Nattie comprehended the situation. 
After her own retreat, Celeste had entered and 
taken the just vacated chair. It was twilight. 
Celeste wore a black dress like hers, her hair was 
dressed in the same style, and was the same color, 
and Quimby had mistaken her for Nattie! And in 
his excitement and struggle with that “ flow of lan- 
guage,” he did not notice even that it was not Nat- 
tie’s voice saying “Oh, Quimby !” for he continued, 

J] 
but I must say it, you know. I must, or I shall— 





you may reject me—I am afraid you will, 


I shall explode and fly into atoms!” 
Here Celeste gave a little scream, but he went 


204. The Wrong Woman. 


=. 


on determinedly, making the most of his “glorious 
opportunity.” 

“T—] am not like other fellows, you know ! that is, 
I mean I have not the—the brass, if I may so express 
myself, and Iam always doing something wrong— 
but I am used to it, you know—the question is, 
could you get used to it? for I have a heart that is— 
that is honest, and that beats all full of love—of— 
love for—you know who I mean!” 

There was a murmured “oh!” from Celeste, as 
Quimby paused to wipe from his brow the perspi- 
ration called forth by his arduous undertaking. 

- “What shall I do!” frantically thought the per- 
plexed listener, divided between the ludicrous part 
of the affair, and her desire to save him from the 
dilemma into which he was rushing; “what can I 
do? oh! if Cyn would only come!” 

But Cyn came not, and while Nattie paused, 
irresolute, and not knowing what course to take, 
Quimby went on to his fate. 

“TY have thought, sometimes, that you liked some 
other fellow—Clem, I mean—” Nattie felt herself 
blush in the darkness—“but I do hope not! the 
thought has made me boil in secret often, and he 
loves Cyn, you know—” Nattie’s color left her face 
as quickly as it had come—“ but oh!” and he went 
down on to his knees with a whack that made the 


The Wrong Woman. 208 | 


vases on the mantel jingle. “ Let me tell you what 
I tried twice before to say, what is always in my 
thoughts ! I—I adore you! the ground you walk 
on! and have, ever since I first saw your nose! I—I 
beg pardon, but I fell in love with your nose! and 
will you—can you tell me that you don’t love any 
other fellow—Clem, I mean—and share my little 
‘property, and be—be Mrs. Quimby, you know!” 

“Ah! really I—such a trying moment !—but 
dear, dear Quimby, I never cared for Clem, never 
only for you—and I am yours !” 

With these words, Celeste precipitated herself 
into his arms, and the next moment Nattie heard a 
crash as they both fell on the floor. The sudden 
shock of recognition that then burst upon him, 
weakened him to such an extent that he could not 
support himself, much less her, so down they went ! 

“He must know who it is now!” thought 
Nattie, with a sigh of relief. 

And meanwhile Celeste had picked herself up, 
but Quimby still remained flat on the floor, bracing 
himself up by his hands on either side, and staring 
at her, motionless. Fortunately it was too dark for 
her to see the expression of his face. 

“Did you hurt yourself?’ asked Celeste at 
length. “Let me help you up! We are to help each 
other now, you know.” 


206 The Wrong Woman. 


Quimby groaned. 

“Oh, misery!” he gasped. ‘“‘ This—my destiny is 
too much forme! Oh! the evil deeds of darkness ! 
Listen to me, implore you! It is alla mistake! I 
thought-——” 

“Of course it was a mistake! You did not sup- 
pose I thought you fell purposely, did you, dear?” 
quickly interrupted Celeste, blindly or willfully 
misunderstanding—who shall say which? “But 
please get up, Cyn may come.” 

At this Quimby scrambled to his feet with start- 
ling suddenness, and exclaiming hastily, 

“YT will—I will write and tell you all—a// I 
have an engagement now with a friend just around 
‘the corner!” he rushed from the room, and would 
have flown, but the pertinacious Celeste had fol- 
lowed, and just as he reached the outside hall, 
regardless of the publicity, flung herself around 
his neck, this time without bringing him to the 
ground. 

“Tt is not necessary to write !” she cried. “Pray, 
do not take such a trifle so much to heart. Remem- 
ber I am yours, and——” 

Another voice from the stairs just above the 
pair, interrupted her. It was the voice of Fishblate 
pére, and it said, 

“ Hugging ! Marry her!” 


The Wrong Woman. = eee 


‘“‘T—I—will !” wailed the now alarmed Quimby, 
as Celeste blushingly withdrew from her embrace 
of him. ‘“I—I will see you to-morrow if I—if I 
live !” and striking his forehead with his hand, he 
burst away, bounded frantically down the stairs and 
fled, ejaculating, 

“T knew it! I had a presentiment from my 
youth !” 

‘““Excuse his eccentricity, Pa!’ Celeste said. 
‘“‘ He loves me so much, poor fellow !” 

“Humph! Get enough of ¢hat/” he growled, 
with contempt. 

“And he has a nice little property!’ added 
Celeste, as they went up stairs. 

“Property is the thing!” Fishblate pére said, 
with undisguised plainness. 

Nattie emerged from her retreat on the hasty 
exit of Quimby and Celeste, so full of regret for the 
flight that had proved so disastrous to him, that the 
ludicrous part of the scene just enacted was for- 
gotten. 

“Poor Quimby!” she thought, remorsefully. 
“What a dreadful fix he is in! I hope he will get 
out of it; and I am so sorry for my share in it! 
How strange it would be if he should, as he once 
said, marry the wrong woman, after all !” 


208 Quimby Accepts the Situation. 





CHAPTER Eve 


QUIMBY ACCEPTS THE SITUATION. 


HEN Quimby rushed out into the street, it 
\ ; ae 
HN was with some wild and indefinite inten- 
tion of flying to the ends of the earth, but 
recalled to his senses by the stares of the passers-by, 
he concluded he had better first return and get his 
hat. When he reached his own room, where Clem 
was thoughtfully pacing the floor, he flung himself 
face downwards upon the bed, groaning and kick- 
ing his feet spasmodically. 
“What is the matter ?” Clem inquired. 
“ve done it now! I’ve done it now!” was all 
the answer Quimby gave him. 
“Has she rejected you?” asked Clem, his mind 
going back to their morning’s conversation. 
“No! no! she has accepted me!” wailed Quim- 
by, with a prodigious kick. 
“ What!’ shouted Clem, stopping short in his 
promenade. 
“She has! Oh, she has!” moaned the wretched 
victim of mistakes. “Iam engaged! Oh, heavens! 
engaged !” 


¥ 
% 


Quimby Accepts the Situation, 209 





“Do you mean to tell me that Miss Rogers has 
accepted you?” inquired Clem harshly. 

This name completely unmanned poor Quimby, 
and he began to cry like a school-boy. 

“Miss Rogers !—No! never—never! but she— 
Celeste !” 

“Celeste !”’ echoed Clem; “Celeste !” 

“Yes! I—oh!—I made a mistake, you know!” 
explained Quimby, wiping his eyes on the bed- 
spread. 

An irresistible smile, but quickly suppressed, 
curved Clem’s lips as he asked, 

“But how could you possibly make such a 
mistake as that? Come, cheer up, my boy, tell me, 
and let me help you out!” 

Quimby looked at him mournfully. 

“Tt—it was dark,” he answered dejectedly, ‘‘she 
sat in the chair—the lost Nattie I mean, it was she, 
for she spoke to me! Why did I not seize the 
chance then? But no! I left her to—to rehearse 
a little first, and when I returned—Oh !—it was still 
dark, and I did not know a transformation had been 
effected—I brrst forth in eloquence, and—oh !—it 
was Celeste, you know! I fled—she followed,— 
caught and hugged me in the hall! Her father saw 
—roared ‘Marry her !’ and I—there was no escape, 
you know!” 

14 


210 Quimby Accepts the Situation. . 

“But, my dear fellow,’ remonstrated Clem, 
“you can explain the mistake! you are not obliged 
to marry Celeste because you accidentally proposed 
to her !” 

Quimby shook his head hopelessly. 

‘‘ She—she—would sue me for breach of promise 
you know, and take all—all my little property! 
And her terrific father—I don’t know what he 
would not doto me! Only one thing could make 
me brave all !—If Miss Rogers—Nattie, would say 
it might have been, had not this fearful mistake 
occurred, I would face even old Fishblate and 
break all bonds.” 

“ Dear old fellow, Iam afraid she—Nattie would 
have rejected you, in any case. She is—a flirt!” 
said Clem, somewhat savagely. ‘She leads people 
on, for the sake of dropping them, when it suits her 
convenience !” 

“I—now really, I—I cannot think that; even 
though she had rejected me, I could not think ¢hat/” 
said Quimby, loyally; then with sudden decision, 
“T will settle it now! If I had not put it off before, 
as I did, I might not have blundered into this awful 
fix, you know! Ihear them in Cyn’s room now ; 
Cyn and Nattie; come with me! I—I will have 
witnesses, and no mistakes this time, you know!” 


Quimby Accepts the Situation. 2UT 





‘What are you going to do?” asked Clem, fol- 
lowing his excited friend, rather reluctantly. 

“Tam going to find out if she—Nattie—likes me, 
you know! if she does, I will brave Celeste—her 
fierce father—the law ! if not—why then, I must be a 
martyr anyway, you know, and I don’t care how 
big a one I am !” 

So saying, Quimby went across to Cyn’s room, 
Clem, not exactly liking the position thrust upon 
him, but unwilling to refuse, accompanying him. 

Meanwhile, Nattie had pounced upon Cyn, the 
moment she returned, exclaiming, 

“Oh! Cyn! sucha dreadful thing has happened !” 

“What? how? when?’ asked Cyn, while, from 
the effects of the melodrama she had just been wit- 
nessing, visions of Clem, with a dozen bullets in his 
head, danced before her eyes. . 

“Quimby ! poor Quimby ! I have ruined him !” 
was Nattie’s remorseful and unintelligible answer. 

“Well, my dear, if you could possibly be a trifle 
lucid, perhaps I could understand the plot of the 
piece,” said Cyn, decidedly relieved of her first 
surmise. 

Upon which Nattie, half laughing and half cry- 
ing, explained. But the ludicrous side was too 
much for Cyn, and she could only laugh. 


202 Quimby Accepts the Situation. 


— eS -. 


“What a farce it would make!” she said, as soon 
as she could speak. 

“Oh, Cyn!” Nattie said, reproachfully. “Think 
how dreadful it is for Quimby, and for me, the un- 
meaning instrument of it all !” 

‘““Nonsense, my dear,” said Cyn, more seriously, 
and bringing her philosophy to bear on the subject, 
“Tt was not your fault! she was determined to have 

shim in any case! Had it been you, as he supposed, 
you would of course have declined the proffered 
honor, and she would have caught him in the 
rebound! If he has spirit enough, he can get out of 
marrying her in some way. If not—she will make 
him a good wife enough. Men, you know, as she 
says, prefer to marry women who don’t know too 
much; so it is all right !” 

And with this Nattie was fain to be content. 
But she felt great pity for the poor fellow ; perhaps 
because of the unhappiness in her own heart. 

It is only from the depths of our own sorrows 
that we learn to feel for that of others. 

As Quimby and Clem entered, both Nattie and 
Cyn looked surprised and curious, but Quimby, so’ 
excited now that his usual nervous bashfulness was 
forgotten, said immediately, 

‘“‘I—I beg pardon, I am sure, for calling so late, 
but my business will not wait, and I wanted Clem 


Quimby Accepts the Situation. 2 





as witness—he and Cyn—so as to make no mistake 
now!” then turning to the astonished Nattie, he 
went on, 

““Nattie, I—I—my feelings for you have long 
been of—of adoration—no, please, hear me—’ as 
she made a gesture to interrupt him. “ To-night, : 
in this room, I addressed another—Celeste—” here 
he groaned, but recovered himself and went on, 
“in the dark, you know, with words intended for 
you. Iwant to know now, what, had I not been 
so deceived, you would have said?” 

“But what difference can it make now?” asked 
Nattie, hesitating, and wishing to spare him, as 
he paused for a reply. 

“Every difference!” said) Quimby, wildly. “I 
beg you to—to answer me truly, in order that I 
may know what course to take !” 

“Then since you’ wish,” replied Nattie, with a 
pitying glance, “I will tell you that as a friend I 
think very highly of you, and always shall. But, 
that is all.” 

“Then come on, Celeste!” exclaimed Quimby, 
in a burst of despair. ‘‘ She—she says, she loves me, 
and I—I may get used to it in time! all but her 
- teeth,” he added, in his strict honesty, ‘‘to those I 
never can !” 

Cyn felt a mischievous desire to hint that time 


214 Quimby Accepts the Situation. 





might relieve him of his objection, but restrained 
herself and said, 

“But you can explain the matter to her, you 
know!” 

“Just what I have been telling him,” said Clem. 
“No woman would force herself on aman under 
such circumstances !” 

“She would, I feel it!” answered the uncon- 
vinced Quimby. ‘“ Miss Rogers—Nattie, I—I thank 
you, I—I shall always remember you as some- 
thing unattainable and dear, and hope somebody 
more worthy may be to you what I would have 
been if I could.. But I—I was born to make mis- 
takes, you know, and I—I am used to it—and ought 
to be thankful it was not Miss Kling !” 

“T am very, very sorry!” murmured Nattie, 
and Clem saw there were tears in her eyes. 

“ Moral—-never make love in the dark!’ said 
Cyn, looking with solemn warning at Clem. 

‘“‘Be sure that all—all the gas in the room is 
lighted if ever you propose!” added Quimby, mis- 
erably, to his friend. 

“YT will remember,” said Clem, glancing at 
Nattie. “There are worse mistakes made in the 
dark than on the wire, it seems !” 

“Far—far worse !” groaned Quimby, as Nattie 
hastily turned her head aside. 


One Summer Day. 215 


“But now, really, Quimby !” urged Cyn, seri- 
ously, “do be sensible. Do not be foolish enough 
to marry a woman you do not want, because you 
cannot have the one you do!” 

But Quimby, with the fear of old Fishblate, and . 
a breach of promise suit, and a dread of explana- 
tions in his mind—moreover, having firmly decided 
that a little more or less of misery did not matter, 
could not be persuaded to take any steps himself, or 
allow them to be taken, to free himself from the 
result of his latest mistake. 

Therefore, it came about, to the surprise of those 
not in the secret, and the unconcealed exultation of 
one of the parties immediately concerned, that the 
engagement of Quimby and Celeste was announced. 


CHAPTER XV. 
ONE SUMMER DAY. 


y HE week that decided Quimby’s fate so un- 
iS expectedly and brought him so much 
woe, to Cyn brought good tidings. Her 
success at the concert had been so decided that she 





216 One Summer Day. 





was the recipient of many offers for the coming 
season, and was enabled to accept those that prom- 
ised most advantageously. No one was more hon- 
estly glad than was Nattie in her congratulations ; 
Nattie, who had fought and overcome that selfish 
pain and bitter wonder of hers, why Cyn should 
have everything and she nothing. 

Since the approach of summer, a much-talked-of 
project among them had been a little picnic party in 
the woods, and as Clem now proposed to get it up 
in honor of Cyn’s success, the plan was immediately 
carried out. Mrs. Simonson, with a feeble protest, 
because Miss Kling was not invited, accompanied 
them. The ‘‘them,” of course, consisted of Cyn, 
Nattie, Clem, Jo, and the newly betrothed ones. 

Nature was kind to these seekers of her solitudes, 
and gave them a perfect day; one of those that 
occur in our uncertain climate less often than might 
be wished, but that penetrate everywhere with their 
sunshine, when they do come, even into hearts 
where sunshine seldom glances. So, for the nonce, 
ourfriends forgot all their little troubles; even 
Quimby brightening up, and ceasing to think of his 
engagement, as they stood underneath the green 
trees, by the banks of a small river; sunshine 
everywhere, and the music of birds in the air. 


One Summer Day. 217 


“Ts it not glorious?” cried Cyn, like a child, in 
her exuberance. 

‘Why not camp out here, and stay all summer ?” 
ecstatically suggested Clem, as he fondled his fish- 
ing tackle. . 

“But it might not always be pleasant like this,” 
said practical Mrs. Simonson. 

“When the sun shines we forget it may ever 
storm,’ said Jo, and looking admiringly at Cyn as 
he spoke. 

“Ts our artist a philosopher, as well as all the 
rest we know he is?” asked Cyn, laughing. 

“A very little one; five feet six!” replied Jo. 

“Well, we apse have no shadows to-day,” said 
Cyn. 

“No shadows to-day!” echoed Jo; then turn- 
ing to Mrs. Simonson, asked, ‘‘I hope you do not 
still regret Miss Kling !” 

“T suppose she would spoil it all!” that Sore 
lady committed herself enough to say. 

‘Well, really, I must say,” remarked Celeste, 
who now gave herself many airs, and evidently 
looked upon Cyn and Nattie as commonplace 
creatures, zot engaged !—“I must say, now that you 
are speaking of her, that she does Aéng in a way 
that is not pleasant sometimes. She actually 
annoys pa!” 


218 One Summer Day. 


“T thought she entertained a high regard for 
The Tor—for your father,” said mischievous Cyn. 

“That is exactly it!” replied Celeste. “ Zoo 
high a regard! Truly, she behaves very ridicu- 
lously ! Why, she positively waylays pa! so in- 
delicate in a woman, you know!” with sublime un- 
consciousness of ever having indulged in the pas- 
time of waylaying herself! ‘Such an old creature, 
too! she is always coming and wanting to mend his 
old clothes and stockings! Poor pa actually has to 
lock himself in his room sometimes !” 

The vision of “poor pa” thus pursued was too 
much for the gravity of the company, and there was 
a general laugh. 

fit is true,’ asserted Celeste. “(Now, isnt 
Ralfy ?” appealing to her betrothed with appro- 
priate bashfulness. 

Everybody stared at this. No one before ever 
really knew that Quimby possessed a front door to 
his name, and he, as surprised as any one at the 
cognomen Love had discovered, fell back on a 
rolling log, and clutched his legs to that extent 
that they must have been black and blue for a week 
afterwards. 

Clem saved the discomfited “ Ralfy” the necessity 
of replying, by interposing with, 

“Come! come! let us not talk on such incongru- 


One Summer Day. 219 


ous subjects this lovely day! let us rather talk 
sentiment !” and he gave a prodigious wink in Jo’s 
direction. 

“| fear we are not a very sentimental party!” 
laughed Cyn; adding mischievously, “except, of 
course, Quimby and Celeste !” 

“Oh! I—I am not, I assure you! I am not in the 
least, you know !” protested Quimby, taking a roll 
on the log; “never felt less so in my life.” 

“Why, Ralfy !” exclaimed Celeste, reproachfully, 
and to his distress went up close to him, and would 
have sat down by his side, but for the uncontrollable 
rolling propensity of that log, which made it im- 
possible. 

“How is it with you, Jo?’ queried Cyn; “can 
you not for once, forget your horrible hobby, and be 
a little sentimental, in honor of the day ?” 
| Jo, who was throwing sticks into the water, to 
the great disturbance of the bugs, and plainly-shown 
annoyance of a big frog, made a somewhat surpris- 
ing reply. Decidedly seriously, he said, 

“YT fear if I should attempt it, I] might get too 
much in earnest !” 

“Oh! we will risk that, so please begin!” said 
Cyn, but staring at him a little as she spoke. “Jo, 
sentimental! Just imagine it !” 


“ Will you risk it ?” he asked, still seriously, and 


220 One Summer Day. 


with so peculiar an expression that she could reply 
only by another astonished stare. 

“But really, it does not pay to be sentimental, 
as you all ought to have found out long ago! as Jo 
and I have!” Nattie said, jestingly, yet with an 
undertone of earnestness. | 

“Then,” said Clem,-dryly, ‘since it is so with 
us, let us fish !” and he threw his line into the stream. 

Cyn, Jo, and Mrs. Simonson followed his exam- 
ple. Quimby declined joining in the sport, and per- 
haps, likening himself to the fish, balanced himself 
on the log, and looked on with a pathetic face. 
Celeste, as in duty bound, remained by his side. 
Nattie, too, was an observer only, and from the 
expression off her face was decidedly not amused. 

“T think it is cruel!” she exclaimed, as Jo took 
a fish off Cyn’s hook. 

“J_I quite agree with you!” Quimby replied 
quickly, in answer to Nattie’s observation. ‘It is 
ere k yt. 

“But perhaps the fish were made for people to 
catch,” suggested the pacific Mrs. Simonson, who 
had not yet been able to get a bite. 

“Yes,” acquiesced Clem, pulling up a skinny 
little fish. “They are no worse off than we poor 
mortals after all. We must each fulfill our destiny, 
whether man or fish.” , 


One Summer Day. 221 


“Yes! it is all fate!” exclaimed Quimby vehe- 

mently. “We cannot help ourselves!” 
_ “You believe in fate then? I don’t think I do!” 
* said Cyn, with a glance half-humorous, half-pitying, 
at its victim on the log; “what incentive would we 
have to any effort, if we were sure everything was 
marked out for us in advance?” 

“That is a question requiring too much effort 
for us to discuss on a warm day,” said Nattie. 

“ Certain circumstances must bring about cer- 
tain results, you will acknowledge,’ Clem gravely 
remarked. 

‘“‘But, it is said that every soul that is born has a 
twin somewhere; and if so, that must be fate!” said 
Mrs. Simonson. 

“Miss Kling’s theory, I believe!” laughed 
Nattie. 

“Tf it is so, the right ones don’t often come 
together,” said Quimby gloomily. 

“We are an exception, then, to the general 
rule!” simpered Celeste. 

Quimby groaned, and then murmured some- 
thing about the toothache. 

“Poor fellow!” said Cyn, in a low voice, to 
Nattie. 

“After all, there zs something in fate,” Nattie 


sighed. 


222 One Summer Day. 


“Perhaps so,” she said. 

“Well, we will not get solemn over fate,” said 
Jo, cheerily ; then, in a lower voice, as he glanced at 
Cyn, he added—“ yet.” 

“And do not frighten away what few fish there 
are here, with your theories,” commanded Clem. 

Although this mandate was obeyed, and for a 
time silence reigned, it was not long before they 
were all singing a gay song, started by Clem him- 
self, even. Quimby joining in the chorus with a 
feeble tenor. But they were tired of fishing by that 
time, and began to feel as if a little refreshment 
would not be out of place, and would indeed 
enhance the loveliness of Nature, so a fire was age 
and lunch-baskets unpacked. 

“It will take a good many of those fish for a 
mouthful,’ declared Clem, who was cook. 

‘You may have my share, I can’t eat creatures I 
have seen squirm,” said Nattie. 

“ Ah, you fastidious young woman! what shall I 
ever do with you, if you are cast away on a desert 
island with me?’ exclaimed Clem, in mock despair. 

“Set up a telegraph wire, and then she would 
need nothing more,” insinuated Cyn. 

“And get snubbed for my pains!” muttered 
Clem, sotto voce, But Nattie caught the words, and 
an expression of distress passed over her face. 


One Summer Day. 223 


“This reminds me of that feast !” Cyn declared, 
as they seated themselves wherever convenient, with 
a dish of whatever was handy. 

“Only more so,” added Clem. 

‘What feast ?” asked Celeste, curiously. 

‘‘Qne we had once,” Cyn replied evasively, glad 
there was something Celeste did not know about. 
In fact, in the matter of curiosity, Celeste was an 
embryo Miss Kling. 

‘‘T am sorry we have no Charlotte Russes to-day, 
Quimby,” remarked Clem, with an expression of 
transparent innocence. 

Quimby could only reply with a groan. The 
recollections awakened were too much. 

“What is the matter now, Ralfy?’ asked the 
loving Celeste. 

Again Quimby muttered something about “that 
tooth.” 

“Oh!” said Celeste, tenderly, “you really must 
have it out, Ralfy !” 

The possibility of being obliged to part witha 
sound tooth in self-defense, restored him for the 
time being. But he was not the only one to whom 
the retrospect brought a momentary pain. Nattie 
sighed as she looked back to the day that had 
brought Clem, but not restored as she then sup- 
posed, but taken away, her “C.” 


224 One Summer Day. 


“The salubrious air and the invigorating odor 
of the forest adds immeasurably to the natural 
capacity of the appetite !” commented Jo, gravely, 
as he passed his plate for the seventh fish. 

“Ah!” sighed Celeste, who prided herself on her 
delicacy, “I never could eat more than would sat- 
isfy a mouse, and since my engagement,” simpering, 
“T cannot swallow enough to scarce keep me 
alive !” 

Quimby looked up eagerly. 

‘“‘I—I beg pardon, but if the—if the engagement 
weighs upon you, I—I am willing to release you, 
you know !” he exclaimed, hopefully. 

“You jealous creature !” replied Celeste, archly. 
“You know, Ralfy, that no consideration could 
make me release you !” 

Quimby knew it only too well, and sighed as he 
picked a chicken bone. 

““A great objection to dining in the woods is 
that one is apt to find his food unexpectedly sea- 
soned !”” said Clem, as he captured a six-legged bug 
of an adventurous spirit, that had sought to inves- 
tigate the contents of his plate. 

“Tsn’t it strange that bugs don’t seem half so 
bad in our food here as they would at home!” said 
Mrs. Simonson. 


“Oh! we can get used to anything, if we only 


One Summer Day. 225 


think so!” said Cyn, bringing her cheery philoso- 
phy to the front. 

“Yes!” assented Quimby, mournfully, “I—TI 
am used to it, you know !” 

Cyn laughed, and then proposed the health of 
the betrothed pair, which was drank in lager beer, 
and to which Quimby, bolstered up by Celeste, at- 
tempted to respond, but collapsed in the middle of 
the third sentence, and with the words, 

“Thank you! and I—I am _ used to it, you 
know !”’ sat down, wiped his forehead on his nap- 
kin, and looked intensely miserable. 

After that they toasted Cyn, and then “Dots 
and Dashes,” and last, Jo with mock solemnity pro- 
posed “ Fate.” 

And just then Quimby met with a fresh mishap, 
and came near ending his sufferings in a watery 
grave, only the water did not happen to be quite - 
deep enough. Arising from ‘the sharp-pointed 
rock that had served him for a pivot on which to 
eat his dinner, he stumbled, fell and rolled over and 
over down the bank, and into the river, with a tre- 
mendous splash. 

Every one jumped up in consternation. 

“Oh, Clem! Jo!” shrieked Celeste, wringing 
her hands, and rushing down to the water’s edge. 
‘Save him! Save my darling Ralfy !” 

15 


226 One Summer Day. 


“ Ralfy,” however, was equal to saving his own 
life this time. The water was only up to his waist, 
and he had already picked himself up and was 
wading ashore. 

*“I—T am all right !”’ hie said looking up at his 
anxious friends with a reassuring smile. ‘“I—I am 
used to it, you know!” 

As Clem assisted him up the bank, the thought 
came into Cyn’s head, why would it not be a good 
idea to push Nat—accidentally—into the river, so 
Clem might rescue her, and thus bring about that 
much to be desired crisis? But remembering that 
water would run the colors of her dress, and farther, 
how dreadfully unbecoming it was to be wet—a 
fact fully demonstrated by the present appearance 
of Quimby—Cyn rejected the idea as not exactly 
feasible. 

They left Quimby drying on a sunny bank, with 
Celeste as guardian angel, love, and the remains of 
the repast to cheer her, and the consciousness that 
his clothes were shrinking on him as they dried, to 
divert /zm, and wandered off through the woods, 
and over the hills, gathering on the way so many 
flowers and green things, that Cyn declared they 
looked like Birnam Wood coming to Dunsinane. 

At first they were all together, then straggled 
apart; Mrs. Simonson being the first dereliction, as 


One Summer Day. 227 


she was not quite equal to climbing as fast as the 
young people. Thus it came about that Nattie 
found herself alone with Clem, and suddenly stop- 
ping, with some embarrassment, but steadily, said, 

_ “There is something I wish to say to you. You 
have spoken several times of late about my ‘ snub- 
bing’ you. I want to say, I have not intentionally 
done so; that I have the same—the same friendship 
for you as always, and that I wish you every happi- 
ness. What may have appeared to you as strange 
or cold in my conduct of late, is due to secrets of 
my own.” 

Clem look at her scrutinizingly, as she spoke, 
and the flowers he had gathered fell unheeded from 
his hands. 

“Tt has never been my wish that any coldness 
should come between us; you know that, Nattie,”’ 
he replied earnestly... ‘‘ From our first acquaintance, 
the old acquaintance over the wire, you have held 
the same place in my heart!” 

“The place next to Cyn!” was Nattie’s invol- 
untary bitter thought, but she instantly stifled the 
feeling, and answered, 

““Thank you, Clem; and I hope we may always 
be the same friends.” 

At this Clem took an impetuous step towards 
her, and would have said—who can tell what ?—had 


228 One Summer Day. 


not at the same moment Mrs. Simonson, very much 
out of breath, come up with them. Nattie was not 
sorry. She had wished to say to him what she had, 
that he might not think her changed manner of late 
had been caused by any feeling of dislike, and might 
understand she wished him success with Cyn. But 
she had no desire to prolong the interview, and 
gladly walked on by the side of the puffing Mrs. 
Simonson. 

Clem, however, looked displeased, and followed 
with a thoughtful face; so thoughtful that Mrs. Si- 
monson noticed and wondered at his preoccupation. 

Meanwhile, Cyn, with Jo, were far in advance, 
and had turned into a by-path that led toward a 
slight rising, sauntering on, Cyn talking merrily, 
Jo unusually quiet, until suddenly stopping, she 
exclaimed, 

“Dear me! we have lost sight of ‘every one! 
Had we not better return ?” 

“No! Ido not want to!” answered Jo, bluntly. 

“Do you not? As you say, only we must not 
lose them. Possibly they may stroll this way ; shall 
we sit down?’ and without waiting for a response 
Cyn seated herself on a big rock by the side of the 
pathway. 

Although Jo was not romantic, he had an artist’s 
eye, and could not but note the beauty of the scene 


One Summer Day. 229 


before him, a scene he did not need to reproduce on 
canvas to remember ever after ;—the mountains in 
the background, the narrow path sloping down from 
the near hill to where, on the gray and moss-covered 
rock, Cyn sat, her dark eyes mellow with the summer 
sunshine, and the cherry ribbons of her hat giving the 
requisite touch of color to make the picture perfect. 

For a moment he stood in silent admiration, 
then, taking off his hat, and smoothing down his 
shaven locks, he said, 

“To tell the truth, Cyn, I do hope they will not 
stroll this way. They are around altogether too 
much. I never can have a quiet talk with you !” 

“‘T declare, I believe in addition to your being 
unsentimental, and all that, you are becoming a con- 
firmed grumbler!” exclaimed Cyn, as she caught 
one of the boughs of the tree overhead and turned a 
metrrily-protesting face towards him. 

Jo looked at her, and a queer expression came ~ 
over his face. rah 

“Am I?” he said, slowly. ‘ Well—would you 
like to see me sentimental? Would you like to see 
me make a fool of myself?” 

“ Nothing would give me greater pleasure !” 
cried Cyn. 

“Then,” exclaimed Jo, planting himself directly 


230 One Summer Day. 





in front of her, “here goes! now I am going to 
astonish you very much, Cyn!” 

“Very well! I amallimpatience! Go on!” 

“But it is no joke!” he replied, in protest to her 

laughing face. “If Iam to make a fool of myself I 
am going to do it in dead earnest !” 

“That is the way, of course,’ responded Cyn, 
but beginning to look a little surprised. 

For Jo seemed very much excited, and his man- 
ner indicated anything but a jest. Extraordinary 
creature, that Jo! His next proceeding was even 
more strange; that was to ask the apparently irrel- 
evant question, 

“Do you remember what we were all saying a 
short time ago, about Fate ?” 

“Certainly ; but are you going to favor me with 
a dissertation on Fate, instead of making a fool of 
yourself ?” 

“No!” was the solemn reply, “have a little 
patience, Cyn. The fact is, you are my Fate—there 
is no mistake about it !—and must be either cruel or 
kind, and there’s no alternative !” 

Cyn’s surprise increased visibly. 

“I am sure, I do not understand you at all! how 
queer you are to-day, Jo!” | 

“Of course I am queer! when a man throws 
his theories and hobbies to the winds, and confesses 


One Summer Day. 231 


himself conquered, he is apt to be queer, is he not? 
Can you not understand, that I, Jo Norton, who have 
always scoffed at sentiment, and proudly declared 
myself incapable of being the victim of love, am 
ready—yes, and longing !—to make as big a fool of 
myself as the veriest spooniest youth in existence, 
and all for love of you, Cyn?” 

To this exceedingly novel declaration of love, 
Cyn responded by releasing the bough she held, and 
staring at him with distended eyes and a perfectly 
blank face; for once in her life, speechless. 

“T told you I was going to astonish you,” said 
Jo, quaintly, in answer to her prolonged stare, “and 
I do not wonder that you cannot believe I really 
love you! I did not myself, for a long time, and I 
would not after I knew it! But it is a fact. No 
joke—no mistake, but a sober, serious fact! I love 
you, love you, love you!” 

Jo’s voice grew very fervent, as he uttered these 
last words, and was in such striking contrast to his 
ordinary manner, that Cyn could but see that this 
was indeed, “no joke.” 

““You—you love—and dove me!” she gasped. 

“Ves, I could not help it! I have only known it 
within a few days, but I think I have loved you ever 
_ since we first met, only those confounded theories 


of mine blinded me.” 


232 One Summer Day. - 


‘‘Well—but what are you going to do about it?” 
questioned Cyn, unable yet to recover from her be- 
wilderment. — 

Jo looked at her, wistfully. 

“Tknow lam homely, Cyn,and Iam poor; Ihave 
nothing to offer you but an honest, loving and true 
heart. I suppose a man who is in love is naturally 
unreasonable—I never was in love before, you know 
—but an extravagant hope will whisper to me, that 
even this little might not be unappreciated by you.” 

And as he spoke, Jo’s face was so transfigured 
that it could no longer be called plain. Cyn gazed 
at him in wonder, and recovering partly from her 
first surprise, an unusual seriousness came over her 
own handsome face, as she answered earnestly, 

“It is not unappreciated ! oh, no, Jo! Nothing to 
offer me but an honest, loving and true heart, you 
say ? why, that is everything !” | 

“Then will you accept it? May I try and win 
your love?” he asked eagerly, advancing close to 
her. ‘I will work very hard to make myself worthy 
of it, and to win a name you need not be ashamed to 
bear. I lay myself, my life at your feet, Cyn.” 

‘‘And this is unsentimental Jo!” Cyn exclaimed 
involuntarily. 

“This is unsentimental Jo,” he answered, in all 


One Summer Day. 233 


humility. “Do with him what you will; he is all 
yours.” . 

Into Cyn’s expressive eyes came some deeply- 
stirred emotion. 

“JT am so sorry ;” she said, sadly, “so very, very 
sorry! what shall I say? what shall I do? I like 
you so much as a friend! But what you ask, Jo, 
could never be !”’ 

The sun sank behind the distant hills, and a 
shadow, such as had fallen over the woods behind 
them, settled on Jo’s face. | 

“The idea is new toyou. At least, think it over. 
Do not leave me without a little hope,” he entreated. 

“Jo, I wish—yes! I do wish that I could love 
you as you deserve to be loved,” said Cyn, 
earnestly. “But it cannot be! it never could be! 
Do not deceive yourself with false hopes. Friends 
always, Jo, but lovers never !” | 

“Ah!” exclaimed Jo, bitterly, unable to restrain 
his jealousy, “fit is Clem who stands between us !” 

“Clem who stands between us!” echoed Cyn, 
astounded for the second time that day. 

*“There—now I have lowered myself in your 
estimation ; I am but a blundering fool, Cyn. You 
see 1 am selfish in my love; and I have not yet 
become sentimental enough to be willing to see an- 
other fellow win what is all the world to me!” 


234 One Summer Day. 


Cyn’s face grew red as was the sky when the sun 
had gone down. 

“Do you mean to insinuate that I am in love 
with Clem ?” she asked, angrily. 

“T would not insinuate it for all the world, if 
you are not,” was Jo’s eager reply; “I am not ex- 
perienced in love matters, but I am quite sure he 
loves you—and he is very handsome,” he added 
ruefully. 

“What a dreadful combination of circum- 
stances !’”’ cried Cyn, distractedly. “But, pshaw! 
It’s impossible!” 

“Impossible? No, indeed! Why, it was by 
being so jealous of him that I first awoke to the fact 
that I was in love with you myself. Besides, every 
one has noticed his fondness for you.” 

“They have?” vehemently, and smiting the rock 
where she sat with her hand, as she spoke. ‘But 
this is truly awful !” | 

“Then youdo- not care for him?” questioned Jo, 
- joyfully. | 

“Care for him?’ repeated Cyn, irritably.. “Of 
course I care for him! Is it not my pet scheme 
that he should marry Nattie? Certainly it is, and 
has been from the first! And now, if he has gone 
and fallen in love with me, a nice predicament we 
will all be in. But you must be mistaken! I can- 


One Summer Day. 235 


not believe him capable of such a thing! The 
only reason I have to fear it is that I would not 
have credited it of you yesterday !” 

“But you see I do love you. You believe I do, 
do you not, Cyn?” asked Jo, too eager to press his 
own suit to give much thought to Nattie and Clem. 
“Why will you not try and love me, as you do not 
love Clem? Am I so homely as to be repulsive to 
you ?” 

“Fiomely ? Nonsense!” replied Cyn, moment- 
arily putting aside her newest anxiety for the 
previous one, “now I come to think of it, I had ~ 
rather marry you than any man I know!” 

“Would you? Would you really ?” seizing her 
hand hopefully. “Then why will you not ?” 

_ Cyn allowed her hand to remain in his as she 
said slowly and impressively, 

“I cannot marry. That is entirely out of the 
question for me. Of my life, love can form no 
part !” 

“But I thought you believed in love?” said Jo, 
looking perplexed, but clinging to her hand as 
a sort of anchor. 

“T do. I believe it is the best happiness of life. 
But it cannot be for me. Why, I will tell you. I 
owe this much in return for what you have given 
me; what I prize even though I am compelled to 


236 One Summer Day. 


refuse it. What stands between us is the memory 
of a love—gone forever.” 

“ What !” exclaimed Jo, astounded in his turn. 
“You do not mean to say that you—that you—you, 


9? 


the gayest of the gay—that you—’ Jo stopped, 
unable to proceed. 

“You hardly expected to find me in the vole of 
the victim of a broken heart, did you?” questioned 
Cyn, with a half-sad, half-humorous smile. “I 
admit I do not exactly answer to the average 
description, and my heart is not broken—there is 
only a blank in it—something dead that can never 
live again. Once I loved a man with all my 
heart ’—Jo sighed—* with all the illusion of youth, 
and he loved me. The difference between his love 
and mine was, that mine was forever, and his was 
for a. day.” | } 

“Impossible!” interrupted Jo. “No man who 
once loved you could ever change.” 

“He happened to be one of the kind who could. 
I never really knew the cause—it might have been 
another woman. You know there always zs another 
woman.” 

‘‘Or another man,” added Jo gloomily. 

“Yes,” assented Cyn, and continued. “He was 
one of the kind, I think now, who are incapable of 
appreciating a woman’s love, and consequently 


One Summer Day. 237 


unworthy of it. But unfortunately, I did not know 
this, and wasted mine on him. So he and love, 
went out of my life forever. But,” with a proud 
raising of her head, “I would not be weak enough 
to allow all my life to be ruined because one part of 
it was wrecked ; with so much gone, there still re- 
mained something, and of that I made the most. 
This is why my art is everything to me, and why I 
cannot marry you.” 

“But it seems to me unreasonable, that because 
you loved one man who was unworthy, you should 
refuse the love of another who would try very hard 
to make you forget that first sad experience,” 
argued Jo. “Give me what you have left, Cyn! If 
it be but dead ashes, I will thank God for the gift, 
and perhaps, at some future day, in response to my 
devotion, even from those ashes shall arise another 
love, so strong, so intense, that, in comparison, the 
old shall be but as some _ half-forgotten trouble 
of childhood, oe remembrance cannot awaken 
even a passing pain.” 

The fervor of an honest affection tinal Jo truly 
eloquent, and his true blue eyes met the dark ones 
of Cyn, glowing with earnestness and love, and for 
a moment she looked at him and hesitated. Then 
she arose, saying resolutely, 

“No! Jo! no! Donot tempt me! The expe- 


238 ‘One Summer Day. 


ca 





riment would be too dangerous! To give you a 
warmed-over affection in return for your whole 
heart, would only be misery for us both—more mis- 
ery than I am bringing to you now. I respect and 
esteem you, as I said before—we will be friends— 
comrades—always—no more !” | 

As she spoke, she extended her hand to him, in 
farewell to all his hopes. 

And so understanding he clasped it, a sadness 
on his face she had never seen there before. 

“As you will, Cyn,” he replied, brokenly, “but 
I shall love you—forever !” 

As he spoke, from below came the cry, 

“Cyn! Jo! where are you? we are going !” 

“Coming !” Cyn’s clear voice answered back. 

“One moment,” Jo said, detaining her, “may I 
—may I kiss you once, Cyn? Once, and for the 
last time ?”’ 

There were tears in Cyn’s eyes. She bent her 
handsome head, their lips met, then, without a 
word, they went on together to join those who 
awaited them. 

And it was thus Fate decreed for these two. 

Love brings the most intense sorrows, the keenest 
joys of life. But there must always be some lives, 
into which comes only the sadness, and none of the 


bliss, of loving. 


ORR 239 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Ole 


ae Clem, on their arrival at the hotel, 

to bear the burden of the green stuff they had 
brought from the woods, Cyn, with a trace of 
melancholy on her sunny face, followed Nattie to 
her room. For Cyn’s joyous picnic, with its gay 
beginning, had ended sadly enough for her. 

“T want to ask you something,” Cyn said, with 
frank directness, as she carefully closed the door 
behind them. ‘And that is, are you, can you be 
foolish enough to imagine, that Clem and I are in 
love with each other ?” 

The small basket Nattie held in her hand fell to 
the floor, at this unexpected question. Had Cyn 
drawn forth a bowie-knife, and -playfully clipped 
off her nose, she could not have been more astounded. 

“If you can possibly reduce your eyes to their 
ordinary size, and give me a candid yes or no, I[ will 
be obliged,’ Cyn said, rather petulantly, after 
waiting in vain for an answer. The events of the 
day had sorely tried her usually even temper. 

A little tremulously, while a burning flush cov- 
ered her face, Nattie answered her, 


240 O: By 





“J—] have heard it intimated !” 

‘“You have heard it intimated! That means yes, 
to my question,” said Cyn; then sinking despairingly 
on the lounge, she added, “here is a crisis of 
which I never dreamed !” 

Not understanding very well, and moreover 
much agitated by the subject, Nattie knew not what 
to say. 

“This is awful !” went on Cyn, savagely beating 
the pillow with her fist ; ‘what contrary things love 
affairs are !” 

Fearful of having in some way betrayed her 
secret—the only conclusion she could draw from 
Cyn’s extraordinary outburst—Nattie stood looking 
guiltily at the floor a few moments, then recovering 
_ herself, she went to Cyn, and said, in a voice full of 
emotion, 

“JT do not just comprehend your meaning, dear, 
but it may be you think I might not quite like the 
idea, on account of that—that first affair on the wire 
If so, dismiss the thought. You and Clem are 
suited to each other, and——”’ Nattie stopped, una- 
ble to continue. 

Cyn, who had been beating the innocent pillow, 
as if it was the cause of all this, while Nattie was 
speaking, now threw it across the room, as she ex- 
claimed, 


OW K. 241 


‘“Oh! the perversity of human nature! Oh! 
you degenerate girl! As if I cared for Clem in 
that way! Havel not from the first set my heart 
on this real-life romance ending in the only way it 
could rightfully end ?” 

A: sudden light came into Nattie’s face, but it 
died away in a moment. 

“Then you do not care for him? Poor Clem!” 
she said, in a low voice. 

“Poor Clem; indeed !’’- cried Gyii pacing the 
floor excitedly. “I cannot—no, I cannot—believe 
it of him! He certainly has sagacity enough not. 
to run his head against a beam in broad daylight, 
even——” 

‘Tf Jo had not,” she was about to add, but checked 
herself suddenly. Not for the world would she 
betray Jo’s confidence. What had passed between 
them to-day should bea secret always, never again 
to be mentioned—but never forgotten in the friend- 
ship and companionship of after years. 

“ You must be very difficult to suit, dear, if you 
do not like Clem !”’ said Nattie, with unconscious 
significance, after waiting in vain for Cyn to finish 
her sentence. 

“Tt is not that,” replied Cyn, somewhat sadly. 
“Do you not know I have only one love, — 
music ?” 

16 


242 OR 


“Poor Clem!” again said Nattie, from the 
depths of her tender heart. “For I know he loves 
you, dear. He could not help it, who could ?” 

Such words would have been sweet to the vanity 
of an ordinary woman. But on Cyn they had a 
very opposite effect. 

“Things have come to a pretty pass if one can- 
not laugh and joke, and enjoy one’s self with 
friends without being made love to!” she’ said, 
annoyed. Then looking scrutinizingly at Nattie, 
she asked, 

“ And you—did you really wish Clem and I 
might love each other ?” 

Nattie played nervously with the fringe of her 
- dress, hesitated, then replied in a low tone, 

ei tear 1. did not, Cyn!” 

“Then it may come right yet!” exclaimed Cyn, 
hopefully. | 

Nattie shook her head. 

“And he loving you? Oh, no!” she said. “I 
shall never be able to say O. K. to what you term 
your romance of the dots and dashes, Cyn. In 
fact, I have made up my mind that there are some 
people born to go through life missing both its 
best and its worst, and that I am one!” 

“Pray, do not say that!” urged Cyn, too 


OOK. Pie” 


ep 


disturbed to bring her easy philosophy to bear 
on the situation. “Of all things, do not get mor- 
bid.” 

“ But it is the truth!” persisted Nattie. ‘ Even 
my name, for instance, proves it! I was christened 
Nathalie, a very fine poetic name. But, in all 
my life no one ever called me by it! I was always 
mediocre Nattie !”’ 

“And Z have curtailed you down to Nat!” said 

Cyn, with*whimsical remorse. “ But what a tangle 
-weare in! First it was the man of musk and bear’s 
grease, who came between you! Then, when he 
was explained away, came blundering I! Why did 
you not lock me out of sight somewhere? I would 


’ 


have done it myself had I known——.” ironically— 
“what an extremely fascinating and dangerous per- 
son I was !” 

At this Nattie could not help smiling. 

“Is was not your fault ; it was Fate!” she said, 
her smile becoming a sigh, that Cyn echoed, for she 
thought of Jo. But yet unconvinced, she said, 

“Fate! No; it cannot be! I think better of Clem 
than to believe he, too, has made a mistake, like 
Quimby, and fallen in love with the wrong 
woman!” then starting up, she exclaimed, tragi- 
cally, “Who? ah! who shall cut the Gordian knot 


244 , (OO. 


and bring about a crisis that shall cause this 
‘wired love’ to terminate in ‘O. K.’?” 

As if invoked by Cyn’s words, there came a 
sneeze from outside, and Miss Kling pushed open 
the door unceremoniously. 

“T wish to have some conversation with you, 
Miss Rogers,” she said in a tone of severity. 

“Some other time, if you please,” Nattie replied, 
impatiently, for her talk with Cyn had unnerved 
her; “just now Iam engaged.”’ 

Miss Kling drew herself up and said, with even 
more austerity, 

“There is no time like the present, and since 
Miss Archer is here, it may not be amiss for her to 
hear what I have to say.” 

Nattie frowned, but Cyn, not unwilling to be 
diverted even by Miss Kling from the topic that was 
so annoying her, said, 

“Very well. Weare listening, Miss Kling.” 

“Miss Rogers,” proceeded Miss Kling solemnly, 
after a preparatory sneeze, “I know all.” 

The emphasis on the last word was truly tre- 
mendous, and Nattie started astonished, while Cyn 
looked up with awakened curiosity. 

“May I inquire what you mean by all?” in- 
quired Nattie stiffly. 

“Yes,” repeated Miss Kling, without heeding 


” 


On EE, 245 


Ee 


the question. “I know Aut. I have for some time 
suspected that something underhanded was going 
on. Now I know what it is that has been so care- 
fully concealed from me! I have long objected to 


+e) 





your associates, Miss Rogers, but 

“Pardon me, but that certainly does not concern 
you Y interrupted Cyn disdainfully. 

Miss Kling looked at her and sneezed a sinister 
sneeze. 

“It concerns me to know what kind of people I 
have in my house!” she replied, ‘and since you 
force me to speak out, Miss Archer, I will say that 
in my opinion no truly modest and proper girl 
would become intimate with those who pad their 
legs and paint their faces, and show themselves to 
the public ’—this insinuation struck Cyn so comic- 
ally that she could hardly suppress a laugh. “ My 
suspicions, to return to what I was about to say, 
Miss Rogers, were first awakened by hearing that 
—that instrument”—Cyn and Nattie exchanged 
looks of intelligence—“ you have here, going, when 
I knew you were not in the room. And now, as 
I said, I know a/// I pass over the audacity of such 
proceedings on my premises, but their utter immo- 
rality is too much for me to bear! Yes! I found a. 
_ wire, and know where it leads! Into the room of 
two young men! That any young woman should 


246 OSes 


be so immodest as to establish telegraphic commu- 
nication between her bed-room and the bed-room of 
two young men is beyond my comprehension !” 

Cyn felt a mischievous desire to inquire how it 
would have struck her, had it been the bed-room of 
one young man? Nattie, who had flushed crimson 
at the first knowledge of Miss Kling’s discovery, . 
now drew herself up and replied with dignity, 

“Really, Miss Kling, I think this extravagance 
of language utterly uncalled for! I admit it was 
not exactly correct for me to allow the wire to be 
run without consulting you, but beyond that, there 
was nothing reprehensible in my conduct.” 

Miss Kling held up her hands in horror. 

“Nothing reprehensible in being connected by a 
telegraph wire with two young men!” she ex- 
claimed. “ Nothing——” 

‘“‘Excuse my intrusion ; but, Cyn, will you please 
inform me if I am to stand all night loaded with 
green stuff, like a farmer on a market day?” at 
this point the merry voice of Clem interrupted, as 
he came hastily in, still bearing the burden Cyn 
had piled upon him. Then becoming aware of Miss 
Kling’s presence, he added to her, “‘I beg pardon for 
my abrupt entrance, but the outer door being open, 
I made bold to enter;” then explanatory to Cyn, 
“Your door was locked, as also was mine, of which 


ORES 247 


Quimby has the key; and as Celeste has not yet 
_ been able to part with him, there I have been stand- 
ing in the hall, like patience with a load of 
dandelions !”’ 

‘“We were having such an interesting conver- 
sation,’ Cyn answered, with a scornful glance in 
Miss Kling’s direction, “that I quite forgot you and | 
the lapse of time.” 

Clem instantly became aware of something 
amiss in the atmosphere, and glanced around inqui- . 
ringly. Miss Kling immediately enlightened him. 

“There are many things you make bold to do, 
young man!” she said. “Putting telegraph appa- — 
ratus in my house, for instance !”’. 

“Ah!” exclaimed Clem, comprehensively. 

“Yes ;” went on the aggrieved Miss Kling, “you 
and that Quimby, I suppose, did it. The idea orig- 
inated with you, of course. He hasn’t brains 
enough; if he had he would not marry Celeste !” 
and Miss Kling sniffed in utter contempt of poor 
Quimby 

“Thanks for the compliment to my intellectual 
abilities !”’ said Clem with a mischievous look ; then 
advancing towards her, he answered in his own 
frank, manly way, “And so you have found us 
out? But I trust you will not be offended with us? 
It is, after all, a trifle, and we said nothing about it 


248 ON. 





merely because we wished to have.a little mystery 
of ourown! It was, as the newsboys would say, 
a lark of ours !” 

“ Lark !” repeated Miss Kling, drawing herself 
up stiffly ; “young man, you will oblige me by not 
using slang in my presence !” 

“Pardon me,” said Clem, good humoredly ; 
“and in regard to the wire, blame me, if you must 
blame any one. As you say, it was all my doing, and 
I induced Miss Rogers to allow the wire to come 
into her room.” 

“And I, too,” added Cyn, propitiatingly, for 
Nattie’s sake, “I wished to learn the business, you 
know !” 

But Miss Kling would not propitiate. 

‘““Miss Rogers, I have no doubt, was very ready 
to be induced !”’ she said, with an effort at sarcasm. 
‘“‘T have heard of young females so much in love 
that they would run after and pursue young men, 
but never before of one so carried away and so lost 
to every sense of decorum, as to be obliged to have 
a wire run from her room to his, in order to com- 
municate with him at improper times !” 

This accusation, far-fetched and ridiculous as it 
was, yet being uttered in the presence of Clem, 
overwhelmed poor Nattie, and she sank on the 
lounge, burying her face in her hands, at which 


On 249 


Clem made a hasty motion, and then, as if aware 
any interference of his would only make matters 
worse, checked himself. But Cyn came to the 
front with striking effect. 

“You ought, certainly, to be well informed on 
the subject of o/d females who run after o/d men!” 
she said, witheringly. “If one may believe what 
the Tor—— what Mr. Fishblate says !” 

This shot told. Miss Kling turned livid with 
rage and mortification, and burst into a terrific 
spasm of sneezing. 

“ Miss Rogers,” she said, wrathfully, as soon as 
she recovered sufficiently to speak, “your conduct 
and that of your associates is such, that I can no 
longer allow you to remain on my premises.” 

“Miss Kling, this is—is very unjust,” said the 
agitated Nattie. 

“Tt is against the wishes of her friends that she 
has remained as long as she has,” cried Cyn, hotly. 

“ Miss Kling, your proceedings are infamous!” 
exclaimed Clem, not able to contain himself longer, 

Rather afraid to draw out Cyn any more, Miss 
Kling gladly seized this opportunity to attack Clem. 

“Young man, what right have you to inferfere ?”’ 
she inquired, majestically. 

Clem bit his lip. Sure enough, what right had 
he? 


250 O. K. 


He glanced at Nattie where she sat, pale and dis- 
turbed, at the scene that threatened to end seriously 
for her, and then, obeying a sudden impulse, seized 
the key at his side, and called, 

“N—N—N !” 

Nattie looked up quickly, and while Miss 
Kling, who supposed he was wantonly drumming 
on the obnoxious instrument to exasperate her, 
vented her indignation, and also the outraged feel- 
ings caused by the Torpedo-wound inflicted by Cyn, 
still rankling, in a wrathful homily to which no one 
listened, for Cyn was watching Clem curiously, he 
wrote rapidly, his eyes on the sounder, 

“‘ She says I have no right to interfere. If you 
had not so changed towards me—if I could hope 
you loved me as I have ever loved you, I would ask 
you to give me the right, and let me put this perni- 
cious discredit to her sex on the other side of that 
door !” 

As these words in dots and: dashes came to her 
ears, Nattie, forgetting Miss Kling, forgetting every- 
thing, except that she loved Clem, and Clem de- 
clared—could it be possible—that he loved her, 
arose hastily, with a quick joy suffusing her face, 
and then their eyes met, and neither words or dots 
and dashes were needed. Love, more potent than 
electricity, required no interpreter, and that most 


One: pacts: 


powerful of all magnets drew them together. Be- 
fore the face and eyes of the amazed Miss Kling, 
who had just delivered herself of a sentence intended 
to be crushing, and could not conceive why her 
victim should suddenly look so happy over it, he 
advanced to Nattie’s side, clasped her hand eagerly 
and tenderly, then turning to Miss Kling, said, 
while Cyn, surmising the truth of the matter, em- 
braced herself fervently, 

‘““Miss Kling, any farther observations you may 
have to make, you will be good enough to say to 
me, hereafter ; and now, will you oblige me by leav- 
ing the room?” and he politely held open the door. 

“ What ?” gasped Miss Kling, hardly believing 
her own ears. 

“T cannot allow you to annoy Miss Rogers, the 
lady who is to be my wife!” Clem added; ‘‘and if 
she and I choose to have twelve telegraph wires, we 
will. Let me bid you good-evening!’’ and he 
pointed significantly at the open door. 

“Your wife! Miss Rogers!” echoed the dis- 
comfited Miss Kling, and glanced at the blushing 
Nattie, at Cyn, undisguisedly exultant, and at Clem, 
determinedly waiting for her to go out. This was 
something she had not expected, and it took her 
aback. So, with a sneeze, she drew herself up, gave 

'a spiteful parting shot, te ig 


252. OV 


“ Well, she has worked hard enough to get you 
—had to bring the telegraph to her assistance !” 
and then retreated, before Cyn could retaliate with 
the Torpedo. Retreated to her own room, to nurse 
her wrath and envy, and to dream hopelessly, for- 
ever more, of that other self, never to come nearer 
than now! 

The discreet Cyn, comprehending that Miss 
Kling had brought about that “crisis,” and that 
something had been said on the wire to the right 
purpose, followed her out, and left them alone. It 
is hardly necessary to mention, that as soon as the 
door closed behind Cyn, Clem took Nattie in his 
arms and, kissed her. It was an inevitable conse- 
quence. 

““And now explain why you have treated me so, 
you contrary little girl?’ he queried, tenderly. 

“JT thought,” Nattie replied, raising her gray 
eyes, from which the shadows were all gone now, to 
his, “that you loved Cyn.” 

“You did!” he said, surprised and reproachful ; 
‘“‘and that is why you have been so cold and dis- 
tant! How could you?” 

“But Cyn is so handsome, and—I do not see 
how you could help it!” pleaded Nattie in self-ex- 
tenuation. . 


““Of course she is handsome, talented, brilliant, 


' O. K. 263 


fascinating, everything that is nice,” Clem ‘an- 
swered, “but,” in a low voice, “Cyn was n6t By 
little girl at B m !” 

Of course, after this there was another inevitable 
consequence, and then Clem asked, 

‘‘And did you care because you imagined—you 
naughty, jealous girl—that I loved Cyn?” 

““Yes,’’ Nattie answered, blushing, but honestly, 
“T was very unhappy, indeed I was, Clem! I think 
I loved you from the first—when you were invisible, 
you know !” 

“And I,” said Clem, “ should have given myselt 
up a victim to despair, like Quimby, if it had not 
been for one thing. Jo made me a duplicate of 
that picture you destroyed, and the fact that you 
never even mentioned the Cupid overhead gave me 
hope !” and his own roguish look was in his eyes as 
he saw Nattie’s confusion, and laughing his merry 
laugh, he clasped her in his arms. 


9 


“T.beg pardon,” said Cyn tapping, and entering 
after a cautious interval, “ But I come to inquire if 
Nat—I mean Nathalie—still thinks, as she didan hour 
ago, that Clem and I are just suited to each other ?” 

Nattie laughed and blushed. 

“You see I set my heart on this from the begin- 
ning,” said Cyn to Clem, not thinking it necessary 
- to define to what “this” referred. “It was such 


254 (Spee €, 


a perfect romance, you know! and she has been 
frightening me by declaring that you were in love 
with me, and was so positive that she almost made me 
believe it, notwithstanding my natural sagacity !” 

_ “As I certainly should have been,” replied Clem 
gallantly, “only for a prior attachment. You see, I 
loved Nattie before ever I saw you! Why, I used to 
pass the most of my time when at Xn in wondering 
what she was like, and wishing—I was as near her 
as I am now, for instance. And how miserable I 
was, when she dropped me so suddenly! and how 
happy I was when I came upon her at that blessed 
feast, and the red hair was all explained away. And 
then came another cross on the circuit of my true 
love.” 

“ And had it not been for that dear Betsey Kling 
with her invectives we should have been mixed, 
and not had a cue now!” exclaimed Cyn. “I de- 
woare,1 could hug her!” 

But Betsey Kling not being available just then, 
she substituted Nattie, and gave her a most em- 
phatic squeeze. 

“Tt was your shot about the Torpedo that 
finished her, Cyn,” laughed Clem. 

“Tt was effective, I flatter myself,’ Cyn con-— 
fessed. “ And that reminds me, you must not stay 
here now, Nat, you know; so I have seen Mrs. 


On ke. 255 


Simonson, and you are going to live with me—for 
the present ’’—glancing archly at her, “until that 
book is written, for instance.” 

“And it wi/Z be written, now, I know!” said 
Nattie, earnestly, her eyes shining. ‘“ You~ re- 
member what you once said, Cyn? I see now you 
were right.” 

“Yes ;” said Cyn, seriously, “and thank Heaven 
that it was love, and not disappointment, that came !” 

“ Love shall not come in vain!” Nattie said, as 
seriously. “I will be worthy of it !” 

The after years only could prove her words. 
But in Clem’s face the belief in them was written 
as plainly as if those future possibilities were 
acknowledged results. 

‘““We must have another feast to celebrate 
events !” Cyn said then, gayly. “You are happy;. 
my romance is O. K.; Celeste is ecstatic ; Quimby 
as joyful as circumstances permit the victim of mis- 
take to be; Jo and I are hopeful of future fame— 
and we certainly must have a feast !” 

“With plenty of dishes this time,” laughed Clem, 
“and there shall be no more crosses on the wire !” 

“But bless my heart !” ejaculated Cyn, “here 
you two are making love like ordinary mortals ’’— 
at this Nattie hastily withdrew the hand Clem had 
taken—“ Quimby and Celeste, for instance! This 


256 OUTS: 

will never.do! We must end this romance of dots 
and dashes as it commenced, to make it truly 
‘Wired Dove !'” 

“True enough! so we must!” answered Clem 
merrily, and rising, he went to the ‘ key,” with his 
eyes looking straight into Nattie’s, and wrote some- 
thing that made her blush and seize his hand in shy. 
and unnecessary alarm, saying, 

“Suppose Jo should be over in your room! He 
might be able to read it !” 

“Very well,” replied Clem, as he laughed and 
kissed her, regardless of the spectator. “I am 
quite content to make love like common mortals, 
Cyn, and I hope, my darling Nattie, that we are 
done now with all ‘breaks’ and ‘crosses,’ as we 
are with Wired Love. Henceforth. ours shall be 
the pure, unalloyed article, genuine love!” 

And _ Nattie, half-laughing, half-serious, but 
wholly glad, took the key and wrote, 

yi.e Bee eer 

If any one is anxious to know what Clem wrote 
when Nattie stopped him, here it is. 


———= ee -—.- = = _—_ - = ——— ae ee 


THE END. 














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PRESERVATION REVIEW 


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